Thinking of the Dead

It's Friday, All Saint's Day. I'm sitting at the computer and my thoughts turn to the departed. Are they more present to me tonight? I want to reach out, as it is the time of year when boundaries between the seasons, the worlds of the living and the dead, are most in flux. I have no rituals to fall back on, have not prepared myself in a particular way for this. It's just me and my thoughts transmuted into words. But more than incantation, I want to honor those that have shaped me, that with their lives and words have shone a light on the way that I have set my steps.

First my grandfather, Joseph Caplan. Born in Liverpool to Russian Jewish refugees, a WWI veteran of the British army, an immigrant to the United States, he was a fighter, a man who valued steadfastness and soldierly values, loyalty to family and dedication to craft. No matter what you choose, stick with it, he used to say. And I've followed his advice, or tried to. I honor him tonight. Mighty Joe, wherever you are, I drink to your name and memory. (Timeout to go get a beer. I told you I had nothing prepared.) Here's the song he used to whistle on his walks.

 Colonel_Bogey.ogg

Next Margarita Larrain Blank, who loved me and cared for me despite my prickly neediness when as a child in a broken family I really needed care. At a time of need she reached out in nurturing ways that I had never really known, and she also pointed me to the Church and the value of an eternal roof over your head. I honor her memory tonight and pray for her. Here's an image of the St. Cristopher's medallion she gave me on my twelfth or thirteenth birthday, I don't remember.

Then there's two childhood friends who have passed whose memories i always carry with me in the way that you carry someone you once loved not well enough. Peter and Eric, wherever you are, I'm with you tonight and wish I could have made you stronger, kept you safer. You battled your demons as bravely as you could. Here's a Stones anthem you both appreciated,

  Heartbreaker.

And finally, for all the artists, the holy visionaries who struggled with the world and loved life despite everything, who never faltered, here are the words of a poet who means a lot to me, William Blake. If anyone is alive in a heaven it is Blake, despite his hatred of the institutional church.
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.




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