Rick IS
I realise now why I’ve been reluctant to write anything I could call even vaguely a eulogy,
a farewell,
for I struggle to think and let my heart catch the meaning,
let alone to write or say out loud ‘Rick Was’.
The time of mourning remains too thick a veil for me to yet loosen grim firm grasp of the disbelief seething glum…
My first return to Footscray in early October was visiting a town whose pulse has been stopped,
A nuclear holocaust of the spiritual plane had vaporised all colour.
Only ghosts remained,
Barely animated cadavers whose voices had no sound.
my heart gazed in sorrow as I wandered to the chemist on Barkly street,
Pausing dumbstruck in Bacash Lane,
Trying to make impossible sense of the idea I will never again see Rick scuttling appear with his trolley to meet me from behind the glass doors…
l looked up to the rooftop terrace where barely a handful of weeks back I was sharing pizza and discussion with the old druid king,
where he held jolly court countless nights,
tentatively happy to find him seemingly in better shape,
after his latest hospital horror,
than I had feared to accept he was fading for too many moons…
he was there,
Our minds jousting and hands meeting with mutual long established joy…
he was on my damn screen organising our next collision barely 10 days after when I was in Croatia,
and now he is not there.
Vanished from the eyes that see only what are in front of them,
but not and never from all else that matters more and most.
Coles cafe,
my heart glares unthinking but feeling harrowed,
Fixating on all of the chairs where we sat many times together,
it searches for him and I have not until today,
told my heart that he is not here anymore…
I try to replay the last evening we spent together,
Desperately try to hear more of his words,
Remember even his pained movements,
Any happy facial expressions,
any signs of more Rick alive to cherish,
nourish my natural effort to cling onto disbelief…
Too presently swirling and swiftly overcome with grim emotion to write for him what I would like to express here there anywhere…deep currents of woe grieving through my senses too swift,
too high tide drown any semblance of celebration…
some fleeting if not calming solace in reason,
to still hear his words in August,
of how he repeated what he has told me regularly,
Of his readiness to leave this mortal coil.
I was not so ready for him to leave…
I now raise my glass of russian firewater maudlin,
thread together some words when they begin to fall into place without hurting too much to continue.
and speak them to him on the wind…
there is no rush. And he will hear them…
For now, when gathered with others whose lives he enriched,
respected him,
valued his singular universal scope of seeing,
knowing,
giving himself to the world and existence here and elsewhere,
it will suffice to tell him I remain honoured,
amazed and inspired to be connected to him,
To love him,
as my true friend.
One of a few special dwarf handful of humans I could hope meet in many lifetimes,
if the trines and kites and dark Lilith moons combine,
cuddle and accord me such magical privilege-
A brother who has always been there for me,
often when all others would not take the time to listen to the lengthy, scrambled,
rambling transmissions from planet Daniel,
After my latest catastrophe,
My latest wrong turn long seen by us both,
Leading to carnage,
That he has suggested I avoid,
Almost fondly,
Yet sighing,
To know my nature would lead me once more into the mire,
For reasons at least,
He could find benign,
Innocent,
Poetic,
Yet childlike…
He always was able and willing to make me feel less alone,
more heard and understood,
accepted by a man I admire and love….
Even when my dearest love of this life,
Perhaps any life I have or will ever lead,
Had been lost from my loving arms,
And Rick was suffering hideous with his own horrors,
STILL,
He came.
Struggling to move a foot forward,
Heaving with every breath,
Just to be there by my side when I was on the verge of a collapse he knew was a threat of darkness engulfing all light of my world.
This effort he made lifted me from what had become what I had sunk so low to accept was inescapable despair.
Often that is all we need,
one of many powerful truths Rick has long understood and embraced with all those dear to him.
I will keep writing to him,
of him,
there need be no end,
no line drawn,
not solely out of reluctance to say goodbye,
or false hope of new dawns when the curtains of our physical life are drawn closed,
but a belief that writing of him,
to him,
keeps him alive and close…
some of us exist always,
different shapes,
Appearing in different realms interwoven,
same soul,
throughout the ages…
Rick is one of the eternal ancients…
sometimes a supernova,
sometimes a jolly pirate,
sometimes an anarchist,
sometimes a mountain,
sometimes the rising sparkling crest of a full moon sung symphony of the ocean reaching the shoreline,
born of the depths of the horizon spanning the globe,
lunar goddess and galactic winds beyond…
He has that essence of everything that was and will be…
a traveler of time making but a final departure from this life,
no doubt having found another destination of greater intrigue…
I remain still amazed and privileged to know him as kinfolk,
as I felt soon after we shared the first of countless dinners and clinked glasses in my Seddon garden more than a decade ago…
I believe he will hear us all tonight.
His flock assembled,
All hearts singing his name.
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