The Silences in Between the Spaces

Questioning My Faith...

The Sound

Like Darwin said in her post, “To Blane, it was all about the sound.”

I was fine.  Or, I thought I was fine.  That was, until I started listening to all of the music files that Blane had sent me over the first few months of our relationship.  Some were lovely, some weird, some utterly insane, and some difficult to call music.  (Case in point; “Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima.”  The other end of the scale... “Still You Turn Me On,” by Greg Lake.)  But in there, within that madness, there were some that were gems, “sorrowful slices of sound and sentiment,” hypnotizing, soul rending, heart wrenching, and joyfully happy, also, but each and every one so difficult but necessary to listen to.  At least they are to me, right now.  Then, I started thinking about all of the music that he has shared with others, probably in the same ways.  The music we did together.  The music of his that he played for me, for us, and the music that he played only for himself when he didn’t care if anyone else was listening.  He said “I don’t really like to play “at people.”  I could absolutely see that.  He was so pure within the spirit of music, that he would be content to sit alone and play for hours upon hours on end, for no one but the trees and himself, and maybe one other person or two of they happened to be around, or care.  Man, what the world didn’t know it was missing.

I found myself crying more than usual.  Today, yesterday... the days combine and time has no meaning.  I agreed with my mother today when she said that it felt like for some reason, this death had hit her harder and in a more real, final way, than any other in her life this far  It made her realize just how transient we are, how quickly the “end” can come, for any of us, at any second.  “We could die ten minutes from now,” she said, and she’s right. 

A tremendous part of me wants to believe that he lives on.  I know in my heart of hearts, way down deep in my faith that is such a steadfast part of what makes my soul my own, that he IS out there, that he Can hear us, that he DOES know.   That yes, he DOES live on.

Yet...

Yet.

Somehow... I find myself sitting in the front yard this morning staring off into the black pre dawn universe.  Alone, in a chair, in front of the burned out embers of a fire my sister and I shared just a few nights ago.  He was still alive then.  I could just go in and email him, call out to him, at any time, and he would answer. 

I found myself then talking to him, or talking to the thin air... the darkness, which is okay.  Eventually, I heard myself bargaining and pleading with the Universe, which is not.  Yelling at God, the Gods, the Goddess, and damning them ALL for taking him away from me.  From us.  But mostly, from me.  Why me?  Because “me” is all I know.  Me is where my perspective comes from.  How selfish I am.  How easily I have lost my faith.  I am faithless now, in that moment.  I know that it will come back to me, somehow, someway, as it has always been such a part of me, but for now... I shake my fists at God herself and dare her...

“If There Is Really Something OUT THERE, Then WHY Does It Not Speak To US!?!?!!!”

Something???  Anything... One hint, one breeze, one scent, one sound one word.  Nothing.  Emptiness. Utter silence, and finality.  Is this where my faith has led me?  To the proof that nothing exists after death?

I opened my hands and talked to him and closed my eyes and listened and felt and imagined that he touched them.  They did feel warm for a few minutes, and then the warmth left me.  Floated away on the breeze.  Here... gone.  Whoosh.  Was that a sign?  Was it my imagination?  Yeah, probably just my imagination.  Science, right?  He was a scientist... I wonder what he would have said about trying to talk to the dead.

Do not fear, my friends, I truly do not, in my heart of hearts, believe this temporary sadness, that there is nothing out there, or even that my faith has completely and finally left me.  One day again, I will rejoin myself with myself and once again lead by example and take those alongside me who wish to see the truths that I see and have seen.  Yet now, just now... it all seems such a lie.  Is this what is supposed to happen?  Are we supposed to reach lows so low that our faiths, our blind faiths, because that is all they are... are to be tested?  It sure as hell seems like it.

NOW I understand, as the understanding creeps in... the coldness... what Darwin said when she exclaimed “I am not okay with this but there is nothing to be done about it.” And when my best friend tells me that she just “Doesn’t care and doesn’t like who she is right now” with her feelings about all this.  That my sister says that she is “Weird right now and feeling alone and hasn’t had anyone to talk to much about this yet but will be okay” and then I feel like she is dishonest with herself and really is just so sad and then I suddenly feel absolutely guilty for being the one who had to tell her fifteen minutes before she left on her trip.  When my mom says she cried again just after I sent her that last song.  Should I have?  Should I have listened to “Moonshadow,” too?  I know that it is probably quite natural that we are all going through our own feelings and phases with this.  I know that in the end, we’ll all likely be back to the same souls that we once were, mostly... but I have the strong feeling, that each and every one of us whose lives that he touched...

...will never again really be quite the same. 

But still.  I HAVE to keep listening to the music.  I have to play and sing three songs at his funeral Thursday afternoon, myself.  Just me and my guitar.  How in the world I am going to face this without crying through the whole thing is beyond me.  Goddess, give me strength.  I hope I pick the right songs.  I hope they sound good enough for him.  They have to be perfect in order to honor him.  I am far from perfect.  I am utterly unworthy.  How I am going to finish working on these video edits with Matt from the Soule Feste footage is beyond comprehension.  These are the last videos of us with Blane... the last musical performance that he ever did with us, and really the first, of this kind... seven of us up there on stage together... not a care in the world... But hey, we will all be able to do this again one day together soon... no problem... we have time... WE HAVE TIME!!!!  I have been doing it, though, working with the videos... enjoying it, even, laughing at it and feeling good about being back there in that moment even if it is just for a couple of hours.  So it is at least something worthy for me to focus on.

I vow to watch every single recorded episode that I have of “Through the Wormhole,” and “Dark Matters,” and “Curiosity.”  That will take my mind off of things.  Or will it?  Can I travel through time, myself?  Bring him back here to be with us, or even just talk with him?

Yeah.  Crazy.  Right?

Am I loosing my mind?  Why is this hitting me so hard?  When I found out Sunday, I thought I was FINE.  Monday, I was worse.  Today, the worst.  What is going on here?

Time?  Huh.  Don’t make me laugh.  There is no such beast.  Some of us know this.  Some of us are just beginning to realize this.  Maybe this is the key to making things easier to understand.  Think like he would.  Be all “scientific” about it.  After all, what could it hurt?

Dammit Blane...

Now you’ve got me looking up Time Matrixes and Sound Frequencies and Psychoacoustics and Teleportation...and... Telepsychoacoustical Evolutions and...

“radiating vibrations catalyzing fundamental wonders refracted and carried on by nodal fluxes....”

(Saturday, October 22nd at 6:02 PM, mind you.)

...And

astral projection.

Ah well.  From the mind of the newly and insanely bereaved...

More to come...

(probably!)
Oh and PS... Please Pay Attention... this is the most important part of this blog.  This is one of the songs that Blane turned me on to.  Now, I am turning YOU on to it.  He shared the song with me.  I found the video. ;-)  Little Neutrino (Klaatu)