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PORTRAYAL 32. For AB. Sometimes old memories can flood over you suddenly and bring closure. Remembering a gifted poet.
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Why I am writing this today is a mystery. Despite our friendship having long since vanished into the swirl of passing years, you were still suddenly in my thoughts this morning, as if I’d opened an old trunk and found the pages of a long lost journal. I suppose it’s true, that the most compelling memories can be triggered at the most unexpected times. And sure enough, this morning, a flood of them began to beat in me like a second heart.
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At first I felt weird, then curious, and then a wave of vivid memories washed through me. I remember asking you: what becomes of empathy when imagination configures something that is difficult to achieve, when spontaneity begets uncertainties, when the willingness to delve into the unknown becomes temporarily untenable, are these valid reasons to assume the worst and walk away? And what about those rare times when two souls soar on creative wings, when curiosity seeks out sacred gems, when two fearless sticks (rubbed together smartly) bring a spark of fiery originality, does one turn back into the shadows for fear of failing? You had trouble answering, because your heart was caught in the swirling edges of an emotional maelstrom.
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It was a trying season. And though our poetic bond was spirited, the exchange had also inadvertently brought to light the hidden struggle you had trusting others. Being betrayed was something you could never have imagined, so dropping your guard with anyone, and making yourself vulnerable again, was out of the question. Simply put, trusting anyone (except your daughter) was fraught with far too many emotional risks. It was a bad time for you, and having a new friend with the kinds of insights necessary to help guide you objectively, was just too much for you to process. Your heart was an open wound, and so sensitive that even the breath of prospect made you flinch.
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Considering that your only recourse was to flounder for a time in your strange religiosity and misery, I backed off, even though I saw the snare clearly. Your depression (which consumed you at times) had its roots in your own self-pity. But how could you heal if you remained unchallenged? There was no magic wand you could wave to make it go away, and there was no pill you could take to make your mind and heart right. I knew from experience that the only way out, was facing it, and then going through it. But you didn’t see that; not with the blinders you had on. I was convinced that the path you’d chosen was going to eventually sap the strength you needed to become whole again.
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At one point, I recall telling you that those who justify their own weaknesses will always remain weak. You couldn’t have agreed more. But you failed to see the connection. I’ve learned since then that suffering similar experiences doesn’t necessarily mean people will listen to what you have to say. Sometimes, they just bury themselves even deeper in their own sufferings. The onus of being betrayed, a failed marriage, fear of being spurned again, waning self-confidence, and your struggle with dementia-praecox, had put a burdensome stone on your back. When I finally realized there was nothing I could do to help you, our creative kinship ended.
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We finally reconnected some months later. You’d gotten worse. So much so, that you openly confessed, that no matter how you viewed what had happened to you, all you saw was an oubliette you could never escape from. It was a disturbing revelation that changed my view of you. It wasn’t long then before you melded back into a kind of shadowy anonymity, and vanished permanently.
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Twelve years have passed, and not a word. And even though I’ve had to deal on occasion with the gloomy hues of your absence, it seems that these memories today mostly appreciate you, and miss your poetic influences. Since I’m purging honestly, let me say that you were one of the best poets I’d ever known. Truly. Let me say also that I did not appreciate how you just vanished without a word, it was dishonorable and surprisingly self-serving. But because I’ve known others who behaved the same way, I was able to accept it, forgive you, and press on. I romanticized for the first year or so, that what we’d shared had planted seeds that might bear fruit in a future season; a notion I’ve treasured. Perhaps, writing this today may be evidence of that, or maybe it’s nothing more than a panegyric to a poet I once respected.
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Be that as it may… notwithstanding all that could have been, and with deference to the perilous nature of spiritual cataracts blending all colors gray, old friend, as I regard the once billowing pennants of our friendship hanging motionless beneath spartan skies, and an effigy of our creative intentions torn to shreds, take comfort in this one thing; I will always remember you with fondness.
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Now… my heart ascends to bless you, to wish you well, and to assure you, that in spite of your Alice in Chains Catholicism, a lantern will be lit in warm celebration of you, holding onto only the good, I assure you, and knowing too, thankfully, that someday perhaps there will be a season of sharing between us again, hopefully, and an opportunity for me to remind you, respectfully, that even in your convoluted religious confessionals, exoneration is granted.
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richard lloyd cederberg
9/2020
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“Friends are the most important part of your life. Treasure the tears, treasure the laughter, but most importantly, treasure the memories.” Dave Brenner
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Sandie
Ron