a friend passes

I found out tonight that my friend Greg K. died of head injuries in an accident at home on Sunday. He had lived in Wisconsin for the last few years, taking care of his elderly mother and writing a series of New Age books based on his knowledge of numerology and other things. You can check out his website here.
I don't believe in many of the things that Greg did, but he was a wonderful friend and conversational partner when we both lived in the same apartment complex in 1997 and 1998. He encouraged me to build up my self-esteem when my relationship with my ex was very conflictual and scary; I encouraged him to write his autobiography, which seemed to help him pull together many strands of thought and seemed to help him follow his life's path as a spiritual counselor and writer.
I can't really explain to anyone who hasn't met Greg what he was like. He was a very short, ex-dairy farmer who was perhaps the world's shortest leather daddy. He had an odd sense of humor, but we found each others' jokes hilarious. He had his bad moods and struggled with his health constantly over the last few years of his life, but was very passionate about his take on the cosmos.
My last e-mail from Greg in September was about trusting Spirit and about letting go of control long enough to be guided by something beyond our own ego. I know Greg is out there in the cosmos somewhere, even if only in the hearts and memories of those who loved him. To me, that's the greatest "cosmic revelation" of all--love's legacy resonates far, far beyond the life of a single person.

letter by letter

Well, we survived Halloween, but the only scary thing that happened was that the bus I was supposed to connect with on Oct. 31 never came, so I got home an hour later than usual. Not a single trick or treater at our overrun-with-wild-children apt. complex. I guess either everyone goes to the mall now, or they're just scared of us... :)

I'm working on my next Echo column. I brought a cache of old letters home from KC in early October, and I'm reading them. Not every single one...not sure why that seems like an impossible task...but enough from each letter-writer to get a good flavor of what our correspondence was like. I'm struck already by my whistfulness for the longer rhythms of written letters (vs. our short burst e-mail letters today). I'm still in contact with a lot of people by e-mail, and extremely grateful for it. Still, I wonder if our society has lost something... ok, I wonder if my communications with others have lost something by becoming almost entirely electronic.

And there's a number of people I have no idea where they are today. For some, it's probably best we've lost contact, but I just wonder about some others...I'd never have guessed when I was 18 where I'd be at 36, so I just have to wonder where the road of life has taken them.

I've set a lot of writing out to be accomplished before Thanksgiving: my Echo column, a front-of-book piece for Sojourners, a Bright Livelihood column. I can do it. The bus time will be full.

Scooter and I were listening to Sheryl Crow's Wildflower album this afternoon and I'm struck by her haunting melodies and her bittersweet lyrics. You can read her lyrics for "Perfect Lie" here.