Herein lies a story of one who endured all things pain, and all that it brings, only to lay down in script the words he now sings - sings
to us all. Words that bring relief from the ague, from the age, and show him as the gauge he now is. His words describe the world of the lost. They bring to the fore the weight, and the cost, and show us the treasures that are tossed into eternity.
Herein lies a gem etched by sand, and rough like the hand of one who labors, of one who understands what life does demand as his words jettison and expand into immortality.
And so we begin a tale impacted by one who never fails to grace us with his everlasting harmony.
Part I
Awkward was the introduction of a man in a gown. You see, I\'m old and optical acuity, well, it\'s been steadily going down. I didn\'t recognize that the man was suffering. I didn\'t recognize the individual as the most profound anomaly I could have ever found.
It had been two years since the plague took me to a world manmade, to a place of ill fate where I could solitarily fade from humanity. It had been another date with destiny, another embrace from finality, another threat from catastrophe. It was followed by a once dismissed symphony, a once remissed (by me) cacophony of lonely sounds from one Jeff Buckley - a tragedy I could relate to as death had never been strange, to me. I had been focused relentlessly on his story, only to acknowledge shamefully, what he could not - a certainty that I will age yet more.
And then the gown. I should have recognized it, right? But to my sight, I saw another strike, another punch to the right. There it was, blurred on a little screen, another man in a dress, another political address, another statement to stress about modernity. It was January. The worldly parade did advance with its political stance, and a militaristic stride that it could not hide. It was the ides of March, and March it was when I said, \"That\'s not a dress!\".
For you see, it would not go away. It came back every day when I looked for sadness to relate to. My painful lungs still did not obey the needs of a man to break free from the fray, to take hold of the day, with a clear mind that could cling to ... something solid. So I caved and hit play for the man in the hospital gown and was ready (I thought) for the road it might take me down.
\"I\'ve been taking some time to be distant
I\'ve been taking some time to be still\" ~ Hi Ren, Ren Gill
\"Your civilian mind is so perfect at always being lied to
Okay, take another pill, boy
Drown yourself in the sound of white noise
Follow this 10 step program, rejoice!
All your problems will be gone! Fucking dumb boy\" ~ Hi Ren, Ren Gill
The tears that flowed came from a place that this Ren fellow knows. It was unnatural for me to find myself in these throes. Not since I fled my childhood had I found myself completely lost again on this lonely road. His eyes made contact, set back, hollow, mine blurred again. Tears, torn from a life full of sorrow.
\"And I couldn\'t awake from the nightmare, that sucked me in and pulled me under
Pulled me under, oh
Oh, that was so real
Oh, that was so real
Oh, that was so real\" ~ So Real, Jeff Buckley
Again, I watched.
Again,
again,
and more just poured out. There was no more doubt how much had been endured. Where had this Ren been for my eternity? And to where, would his music send? For, like, and unlike Ren, my words did never ascend to a place of healing. The inward pain became somewhat poetic. Just enough to retain some self, some feeling, but the openness was not allowed. I never stood before a crowd. Maybe now...