Stephen C wrote:Living in the now, wholehearted,
Unafraid, whatever may arise
Without anticipation or regret,
Is the only way to sample immortality.
I don't want to sound like a broken record, so I'll put it this way: <img src=members.aol.com/krobinett/images/highdrake.gif>
If he came to this wisdom on his own - and I imagine he did, because he surely would have told you about the Tao Te Ching or Zen books if he had read them - then I'm in awe of him!! Heck, if he wanted to, he could have written the TTC himself!
This also goes back to those quotes I posted in response to
Holding eternity for an instant
...
Glimpses, glimpses—for one pure second
from his poem about the tower bells. What a fantastic mind! Eternity, immortality, are now! Every instant!
All lies and jest
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest -Paul Simon
Han-Shan, thankee-sai, but I really think he's the one that rubbed off on me. He gives me too much credit, he was born that way.
And Fist, you are so right. When I was reading those pages you sent me on Taoism, I was floored. "This sounds just like Steve!!" If he ever read Zen or Tao I'm sure he would have told me. This is why he had people so mesmerized when he spoke. He would just talk this way. It's not just in his journals, he actually spoke this way.
There are other entries about the man in the gallery, he did come back and visit Steve several times. He was actually a street poet, a homeless man. He too had AIDS. Steve offered him a place to stay, but he refused him. Oh, and Steve never asked him why he came in that first time wanting a Monet original. He just thought it was an excuse to be in the gallery, Steve was certain the man was sent to him. We believe he died alone.
And I believe in you
altho you never asked me too
I will remember you
and what life put you thru.
~fly fly little wing, fly where only angels sing~
~this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you~
...for then I could fly away and be at rest. Sweet rest, Mom. We all love and miss you.
I don't think he gave you too much credit at all, Furls Fire. He obviously treasured you, and from what I have read of you on this board and in the few emails we have exchanged, he is absolutely right. You have your own light. Anyone can see it. Even through the type-written word.
Once again I'm astounded by his writing, the way these poems and versus just seem to come from no where, it truely amazes me. And his account of the man visiting him in the gallery,
Stephen C wrote:"he smelled of cheap pipeweed and Jack Daniels."
Such awareness, such detail, and just in a journal entry. He should have written novels.
Exceptional man, your brother. And exceptional woman his sister. I thank you for sharing him with me, Furls Fire.
What are you blushing about? Listen, you need to just accept who and what you are young lady.
btw, I would really like to hear more about this man who visited Stephen. He sounds like a fascinating person, the kind of person good stories are written about.
He came in like a ghost out of the fog. I knew him instantly, the one who a month ago used Monet as an excuse to come in the Gallery and talk to me. This time, I was in the deli, reading Hemmingway and nursing a coffee. I watched him as he aimed himself in my direction, walked toward me with purpose. He looked the same, rumpled, but not dirty, just mismatched. His clothes obviously from some thrift store or shelter grab box. He gestured at the chair opposite mine across the table and I nodded, he sat and stared at me. “Remember me?” He asked, his voice sounded muffled by a cold. I replied. “Yes, you came in the Gallery a month or so back. Told me you knew I was dying.” He nodded slowly. I asked him then if he wanted anything, coffee or sandwich, told him I was buying. He waved it off, said he’d eaten already. “I went by there, looking for you. It’s all closed up.” I nodded and told him that I close it between 1 and 2 for lunch break. Then I asked him why he was looking for me. He smiled then, it lit him up. “To finish our talk, of course.” I smiled too. Held my hand out to him, “Steve McKinney” I said, he took it, “John Doe.” He replied. I laughed. “Ok, John. Good to meet you.” And then, he began to talk, words I’ll remember always spilled from him like a waterfall. He said:
“I sleep in different places, park benches, shelters, the beach, the drunk tank at the precinct, and sometimes the charity ward at Mission. I’m dying too. But that isn’t what’s important, what’s important is that I know you are dying. I know it because I saw it, in a dream, while I was sleeping at Mission, one of those drug induced sleeps that make your dreams crazy. Like bad movies. I was led to your gallery, and I saw you, but not as you are sitting before me. I saw you in your last days. And I asked out loud, ‘why show me this man?’ Not expecting an answer, you know. If your dreams answer you, then you know you are one step from dropping off the cliff into insanity. I got one though. ‘Because, he is the response to your own self-doubt, he will show you that beginnings and endings are not always the way they appear. Death is just a passing. He will tell you that. He will tell you hard things that you need to hear.’ I don’t know who that was, maybe it was myself, my inner ID. So, I came looking for you after leaving Mission. I know your gallery, when I was younger and a person of standing (he spat the word ‘standing’ like it was bitter) I bought a Rembrant knock off for a woman I was seeing from your predecessor. Small world. Anyway, I knew it when I saw it my dream. That’s how I came to you a month ago.”
He eyed me carefully as his voice trailed off. “Scared you, didn’t I?” He asked into my silence. “No. Not much scares me.” I said back.
“Not even death?”
“No. Why fear death? I think most people fear the how of it, not the actual passing itself. I know the how of mine will be through pain. I fear that, can’t deny it. But, I don’t fear you, not at all. I hear voices in my dreams too.” I said to him.
“Well, I fear it. My life, let’s just say it’s been nothing to brag to God about. (I will never forget this next statement.) I don’t think God appreciates His gifts being thrown back in His face. And I threw them back, so hard, that if He was standing before me when I did it, He would have fallen under the force. People go to hell for things like that.”
“Maybe that is why He sent you to me, to help you see that they don’t.”
“And how would you know? How is it that you can say I won’t go to hell?”
“I really don’t know, John. I just go by my faith and my belief. And my belief is that our God is not a vengeful God, but a loving one. He doesn’t cast down His children just because they fail themselves, or throw His gifts back at him. Where do you think forgiveness comes from? Besides, looks to me like you’ve punished yourself sufficiently.”
That was the wrong thing to say, because he got up without another word and left. I thought about going after him, then thought better. He was right, how do I know? I just go by what gives me strength to get through the days. I can’t tell John whether or not he will go to hell, but my deep feeling is, he won’t. Maybe such revelations are hard for him to swallow. Hell would burn away his culpability for whatever deeds he feels condemned for. Sometimes, forgiveness can’t be accepted without the purging of such guilts.
So, I watched him go. He knows where to find me if he wants to talk again, though I do not understand why he was sent to me in the first place. What wisdom do I have? Maybe, I’m dreaming too.
I sing to life
and to it's tragic beauty
to pain and to strife
and all that dances thru me
the rise and the fall
i've lived thru it all...
To my brother, Steve, who held a grace and light beyond words, God bless. I love you --Tracie
Wow, I am speechless! What an amazing meeting! I have always believed that certain souls, certain spirits, are drawn to each other, like bees to honey. We wander about the world and bump into people every day, never knowing their names. Seems like your brother was a soul other souls were called too. I imagine that he was "bumped into" more frequently then most people are. That this man, this dying man, was "sent" to him, by who or what is uncertain, is just truly remarkable. His soul crying out in pain to be healed, and your brother's answered.
I will say this again. I wish I could have sat down with Stephen and just talked with him. I am in awe of him, every entry you post increases my admiration of this man. He, indeed, had a grace beyond words.
I've also read it a couple times. (I've recently gone back to read all of Stephen's words again.) "Astounding" is, indeed, the best word for him. And what a perfect quote to go along with it! Nice job ShadowLurker.
All lies and jest
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest -Paul Simon
Yes it was Shadow! I wish you could have sat and talked with him too. I wish that everyone here could have really known him. It's during this time of year when I miss him the most. I've always got his voice in my head, whispering to me, but lately, since I have started sharing him with everyone here, he's speaking louder to me. I am remembering more of the "little things". He would spend the holidays with us usually, but there was one Christmas Eve, in '99, he was in the hospital, so we went there to San Fran. I was with him when the clock moved from Christmas Eve to Christmas Day and he said. "Happy Birthday, Jesus." Looked over at me, I took his hand, and we began to sing "Silent Night". I know, sounds a bit corny. But, it's the little things like that I remember and they make me smile. How he could make that sterile, impersonal hospital room feel warm and inviting, just by smiling. And even sick, he had that smile, that laugh, that music that was him.
Okay...rambling again...
It makes me happy that he's touching people again.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone
And I believe in you
altho you never asked me too
I will remember you
and what life put you thru.
~fly fly little wing, fly where only angels sing~
~this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you~
...for then I could fly away and be at rest. Sweet rest, Mom. We all love and miss you.
Well, maybe just a little corny. Don't worry, we know that it meant, and means, the world to you, and I'm very happy that you have such beautiful memories of such a difficult time.
I've never known anyone remotely like your brother.
(btw, I believe the residents prefer the name Frisco. )
Last edited by Fist and Faith on Thu Nov 27, 2003 4:35 am, edited 1 time in total.
All lies and jest
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest -Paul Simon
Han-Shan, thankee-sai, but I really think he's the one that rubbed off on me. He gives me too much credit, he was born that way. 
at danlo
)
But at least she's not arguing the point anymore. 
**quickly shakes fist (no not u!) at beloved Furls!**
