Please Talk about Me When I'm Gone

Discursion: Bright Moments

Question: What's it all about?

Answer: I don't know.

But I do know a few things.

I know some of the things that make me tick.

Even though I write (for fun, for real, and forever), I would still say that music has always been the central element of my existence. Or the elemental center. Writing is a compulsion, a hobby, a skill, a craft, an obsession, a mystery, and at times a burden. Music simply is. For just about anyone, all you need is an ear (or two); then it can work its magic. But, as many people come to realize, if you approach it with your mind, and your heart, and eventually (inevitably) your soul, it's capable of making you aware of other worlds, it can help you achieve the satisfaction material possessions are intended to inspire, it will help you feel the feelings drugs are designed to approximate. Et cetera.

This is what music signifies for me. As a dedicated nonmusician, I use this art as a viable source of empowerment; while it remains first and foremost a very real and easily identifiable source of extreme pleasure, it's also a vehicle, something I use to get someplace else. A stimulus that demands a response, inexorably capable of conjuring up words and concepts (and constructions) such as spirit, soul, God, karma-things that are (rightfully) almost unbearably oblique, or pretentious, or all-too-easily invoked, expedient for folks who ardently need a way to articulate the feeling they either can't quite explain or desperately wish to get in touch with.

(When all else fails-and all else always fails-there is music. When the emotions and awareness start to squeeze their way behind your mind, giving way to those awful times when you wonder how you can possibly find peace or make sense of anything ever again, music is there when you need it most. August 27, 2002, was the first day of the rest of my life. Anyone who has lost a loved one will recall-or half recall-the blur of events that come after, all of which are a blessing in the disguise of distraction. I did a lot of driving: from my father's house to my place, from funeral home to father's place, to the airport to pick up relatives. The sensations would become overwhelming at times, and I struggled through interminable hours when I wasn't even certain what was real or who I was. During one of those episodes I was coming or going somewhere and I hadn't been paying attention to my car stereo, and then I came to my senses, recognizing a song I'd heard hundreds of times: in this crucial moment it broke through that haze like the sun and saved my life. I can't count how many times something similar has happened, though it's possible I never needed music as much as I did on this desperate occasion.)

Here's the bottom line: when I contemplate whatever life has in store for me, or even if I allow myself to entertain the worst-case scenarios regarding what I could have been or might become, as long as my ears work, all will never be lost. In this regard I echo the letter of Paul to the Corinthians, which is obligatory reading at every wedding: and though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. I feel that, and I don't know many people who would attempt to contradict such a beautiful, irrefutable sentiment. But I reckon, if everything else was removed from my life, including love, I could find meaning and solace if I still had music. If I'm ever reduced to a bed-bound wreck, so long as I have ears to listen with, I'll never be beyond redemption; I'll always be willing to draw one more breath. Take away my ability to write, speak, see the world, smell the air, drink, eat, or emote, this life will still be worth living if I can hear those sounds.

Which is why I make a request to my friends, family, and the medical establishment: even if I'm someday in that coma and every professional would wager a year's salary that there's no possible way I'm able to register anything, as long as my heart is still beating, please, no matter what else you do, keep the music playing in my presence until I'm cold. Because no matter what you think or whatever you're praying for, as long as I can hear that music I'm already in a better place than wherever you imagine or hope I'm heading toward.