*
Yesterday I found out that one of the seven hikers killed in the recent flash flooding in Zion was a guy I went to the Academy with. He was a good man, a medal of valor recipient who pulled a guy out of a burning car, twenty years on the job, three kids, grandkids, the whole shooting match. His wife was with him. They died together. I don’t know if that’s better or worse. Probably worse, I guess. I don’t know. Maybe it took their minds off of their own death, but it must have been terrible, completely terrible, to have your life stripped from you so violently.
I knew a couple of Highway Patrol guys who died when a road got washed out and they drove off into a flooded river. Their unit filled up with water and silt and it rolled and rolled downstream. There were indications that it took a while for them to die.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking so much about death lately. Not that I don’t often think about it- it’s always in the front of my mind given my job, but I’ve been thinking about the experience of violent death, the terror and helplessness, the knowledge slowly dawning that you’re not going to get out of this one. I think about the children in those cars that got caught in the flood, how they died. At six years old, what’s that like? I think about my grandkids going through that and it scalds my soul. I think about what Steve and his wife and the five other hikers endured on their way out of this world.
It seems terribly harsh.
They died doing something they loved. That sounds trite because on some level it is trite, but there’s truth in it, too. To me, it’s not that they died doing it, but that they were doing it at all that matters. How many of my days have I spent doing what I loved?
I was thinking about my best friend who had his friends child die in his arms a few years back. Thinking about the many people I know from work who have had their children die.
It’s strange, it fills me with love. It’s uncomfortable, it’s harrowing, really, to open up to all that pain- pain that is always there, that is going on every second of every day, somewhere, everywhere. But when I open up all the way, what’s there is love. Not the love of a hallmark card, but a love that burns the world away, that turns everything to ashes. And then the love that emerges like a green shoot from those same ashes.
Yesterday we were driving over the hill with the grandbabies asleep in the back of the truck- (the beautiful sedative of driving!) and we hit a brush fire that had been burning a little while. Firetrucks arriving, folks pulling over to gawk, and the flames burning along the roadway in three or four places. Not a big fire, but pretty close to home and nothing between it and our own home but open land. Anyway, driving through the smoke and flames was like this tiny taste of death, what it could be like, how it starts for some people, and I could hear the fear in my wife’s voice…
then we drove on through, into the normal world again, and went to The Home Depot for a new toilet seat.
How it goes.
***
This morning on the way to work I was feeling happy and content. We’d done so much work on the house, redoing the floors, and we moved the living room and dining room back in to the blue house from the studio- our loft bed is next!- and we spent the evening in our spanking new old house for the first time in, well, in years, I guess. And everything was clean and spare and gorgeous and we were spent and exhausted and happy and hopeful. The past, the present, and the future were all sitting with us in that little old house that we’ve been in now more that twenty years. Knowing all that had happened in those rooms, thinking of the future and of the open road, knowing we were going to sell the place soon- everything was all mixed up and yet perfect.
Anyway, I was in the same kind of mood this morning when I came to the north end of Cayucos where the highway meets the sea and it was calm and bright and cool and gorgeous and I was happy. And I passed this homeless crazy man, walking northbound on the shoulder. He was sunburnt and greasy and muttering and the pain that radiated from him was brighter than the sun. I winced when I saw him and started saying a little prayer for him, some ohm mani padme hungs and wishing for a good rebirth for him and just praying for some peace, for some lifting of his suffering.
And as I drove past him I sighed and said, “Fuck it.” and pulled over, whipped around, drove past him the other way, and got out of my car. I was going to give him the twenty bucks that was in my wallet, but what he saw was a man with a gun and badge getting out of a plain wrapped cop car, and he flipped me off and crossed the highway, still muttering. I tried again and got the same response. So I got back in my car and came to work.
Sometimes you want to help, but you just make things worse. That’s how it goes.
***
Then all that way to work I was listening to NPR and they had this Syrian refugee guy who’d been granted entry to the United States. He told of his arrests for protesting against the regime. They beat him, they tortured him with electricity. They removed his kidney.
He was so happy and thankful to be here.
I keep forgetting how what I have, most people in the world would kill and die for.
I just keep forgetting.
***
So, I’m happy. Happy and scalded. Awake, tender, exquisitely alive, painfully, radiantly, joyfully alive. For this moment, the only one there is.
May you be happy. May you be at peace. May you and everyone you love have everything you want and nothing you don’t want.
May we all find a way to love each other with the same fierceness that we love our most beloved.
May it be so.
***
Namaste.
***
The Dishwasher's Tears 
Hearing that phoenix love: “a love that burns the world away, that turns everything to ashes. And then the love that emerges like a green shoot from those same ashes.”
I’m sure you know that love intimately.
I’m proud of myself for having you as a friend, did you know that?
love,
Scott
These last two entries have moved me to tears. I don’t often reply but I always read and your words always are a balm. So thank you. Keep on doing whatever it is you do. You touch unseen lives.
Judy-
that means the world to me, it really does. I often feel like this blog has outlived its usefulness, if it ever had any, at least for anyone other than myself- so it’s nice to be reminded that it does serve others, too.
so thank you, most deeply and sincerely.
love,
scott
Outlived it’s usefulness? Oh, Scott. I come here for darsham. You have the grace to speak a fine and clear truth. It is so very much needed.
Your words renew and refresh my spirit – whether light or dark they bring truth. Sometimes I can do it, sometimes we all can do it. But you, little brother have a gift.
It will always be needed.
Namaste
Livia-
Well.
I’m humbled. And grateful. And happy.
Thank you for your kind words.
love,
Scott
May it be so. Absolutely. For long, perfect moments, at least.
Isn’t it so odd how death is the greatest uncertainty and yet, at the very same time, the greatest certainty?
Bless you, Scott and bless your beloveds and may there be peace upon you.
I mean that with all of my heart.
Mary-
I know you do mean it, and I’m so grateful to you for your love. I have been thinking a lot, too, about family, and I’m claiming you as family. Just sos you know.
It seems right to me, like somehow it got overlooked and now it’s been fixed.
love-
Scott
Beautiful post — with all the recognition of the absurdity AND great meaning of this life. I was thinking about your musings on death and terror, and I wonder if when people are actually in the throes of it (and not just worried about it or veering toward it, or dipping feet into it or imagining it) — truly dying so violently, like those people in the flood — I was wondering whether there is a real physiological protective response, a surging of chemicals, a great rush that obliterates the terror. It would seem so, or I hope so — but that wondering is probably also egotistical in that it makes me feel better about the terrible way these people have died.
You know, Elizabeth, that’s a nice thought. Compassionate. I was at first inclined to simply dismiss it- my impulses are dark and I am loathe to skirt what’s hard and painful to accept- but as I kept thinking about your idea it kind of washed over me that you might be right.
I hope that you are.
I’m all open-hearted right now, kind of beautifully open and raw, and you’re helping plant something a little bit tender in that ground- and for that I’m most grateful.
You inspire me so much. I’m proud to know you. I can’t wait to sit at a table with you someday soon and talk story. And have a drink maybe.
love,
Scott
… some ohm mani padme hungs and “Fuck it.” …
humanity
love!
that’s us, isn’t it?
love,
Scott
My little city is overflowing with homeless people. The local shelter that offers a daily meal is a block over from my place of employment, so at all times of the day, there are homeless folk wandering the streets, some panhandling, some digging through the trash, some searching the sidewalks for half-smoked cigarette butts. I think it’s too easy to not see them. I think it’s too easy to walk past these people without meeting their eye and acknowledging them. Oftener than not, that’s all they want. They want to be SEEN. They want to know, they want those of us who are not homeless to know that they are NOT invisible. I say hello. I meet their eye. If I have change, I’ll give what I have. My friend and I bought a bag of dog food for a young man who was standing outside the drugstore asking everyone who walked by for money to buy food for his pup, a pale brown, underfed pit bull who was meek and well-behaved on his leash. My friend and I walked into the store for what we needed, got to the cash register, looked at each other and said, okay, let’s do this, walked back to the pet supplies and bought a bag of dog chose. The kid was so thankful when we handed it to him. As we left him, we were both waiting to see what would transpire. I know we both half expected him to run back into the store and try to exchange the bag of food for cash. Instead, he came up behind us, then walked past us, bag of food clutched under his arm, and kept on walking until he got to the dumpster behind the McDonald’s where he sat down and opened that bag and let his dog eat.
Brother, I think all any of us wants some times is to feel visible. To be seen. I think it’s just as important to SEE, to fulfill that need.
I came, I saw, I fed a dog.
Happy and scalded Yes. Exactly.
Do what little good or lot of good you can unto others. If they will let you.
Good Sunday to you, brother. Good autumn day to you.
Big love to you and yours, always.
lk
I can’t edit my comment, alas. I never proofread, dammit. Dog CHOW. I have no idea how I typed out chose. (grin) DOG CHOW. Argh. I loathe finding my own typos after the fact. (shakes fist at sky and moves on)
Your story about the dog food made me happy. If we can all just open our eyes and our hearts as much as we can, we’ll keep seeing moments like that one where our actions can make a difference.
You are a special creature, Laurel. I’m so glad we are brother and sister!
love,
Scott