Dia de los Muertos

This weekend, remembering a former student of mine who died of a drug overdose this year, remembering Cecil Taylor, remembering my friend JO who was shot and killed, remembering Jamal Kashoggi who met an end impossible to imagine in its horror and suffering at the hands of the most "confused and unskillful" among us ("confused and unskillful" is the interesting euphemism used by some Buddhists to explain evil human behavior-- more on that another time). 

Remembering some of my favorite musicians who died-- Sonny Fortune, Otis Rush, Randy Weston, Aretha Franklin, Tomasz Stańko, Glenn Branca, John Jabo Starks, Buell Neidlinger, Leon Ndugu Chancler, Hugh Masakela, Dolores O'Riordan.

Even though it was only maybe in the mid-50's a couple nights ago, I lit a ritual fire, burned some dried roses I had, wrote a few things on paper, burned the paper. I hardly used the little firepit I bought last winter, but maybe I'll use it more this year. 

Of the above musicians, besides Mr. Cecil Percival Taylor of course, the one who stands out for me today is Sonny Fortune, who had a brief tenure with Miles Davis in his acid funk rock band of 1975, and ended up on both Agharta and Pangaea, as well as Get Up With It and a few tracks from Big Fun. I have always deeply appreciated the way he shaped his solos when he was with Davis. His solo starts at 7:57 here. 

The death of my friend JO came as a huge shock last week, and I'm still mourning. She was Diné, and joins far too many Native women murdered and missing. She was warm, kind, friendly, a great botanist and had, not too long ago, found an interesting job as range specialist for the Hualapai. A reflection of her soul and character: her nephew was about to be sent into foster care due to an abusive home situation, so she adopted him and raised him as her own son. It was a 10th birthday celebration for him when she took him and a friend of his out to a late movie. She went to drop off her nephew's friend and his house was dark and locked. She went with him up onto the porch and, for reasons still unknown, someone from inside the house fired a gun through the door and the bullets struck her. She died on the way to the hospital. 

I hope her nephew finds his way through all of the grief and loss he has suffered at only 10 years old. 

Ofrenda at Hollywood Forever Cemetery, an amazing place to visit for Day of the Dead

The soundtrack to this time of year for me is La Monte Young's Well Tuned Piano, a five hour excursion into endlessly introverted music of depth. The closing of the year. The submersion of the light. Winter darkness. I remain well tuned, myself, to the change in day length, and my own seasonal depression cycle kicks in around this time. It's definitely more moderate with buproprion and mindfulness, but it's real. 




The former student who died of either a heroin or an opioid overdose was always a rebel. One of the kinds of rebels who is in a lot of pain. You can see it in their eyes, you can tell from the way they use their rebellion as a shield, as armor. Human beings who cannot find a way to suffer directly in confrontation with reality die from avoiding suffering, while pretending to be tough and cool. Softening into the natural grief of life is salvation. 

Recently in my recovery meditation group, we've been exploring tonglen meditation.  "Use what seems like poison as medicine," says the teacher. It's a powerful practice for addicts in particular, who have lived for years avoiding suffering and chasing pleasure. Take in all of the suffering of the world, or of just yourself, or of loved ones you know, with each inhalation. Exhale cool, calm liberation and relief of suffering, and compassion. Turn it around and inhale the suffering, and exhale compassion. Instead of self-protecting and romanticizing pain, while avoiding reality and pretending to be tough but actually being a coward, turn to face the truth of suffering directly, and make a useful offering of service in order to alleviate it. Take courage and use the alchemy of love to offer liberation. At first, of course, I found it confusing and counterintuitive, and frightening. I have become closer friends with the practice. 

I get the armoring though. Loss feels like it will destroy us. Even the armoring is a manifestation of our desire for life. But when I go inward, touch the sadness and tenderness I carry, become friendly with death, the world opens more beautifully to me in return.