I almost knew Brian Doyle. It was a near miss, and a loss for me. He died in his sleep yesterday, taken out of his earthly body by a brain tumor discovered last fall, only weeks before we would’ve been introduced. I owe Brian Doyle this blog. I mean the whole enchilada, not just this one measly tribute.
Last summer, as you may remember, God suggested we (God and I) co-author some short pieces, and in a slightly addled state, I agreed. I wrote, and then emailed the pieces to sympathetic friends, acknowledging how strange they were. I usually cried at the end of each one–something that made them seem inexplicably authentic to me. But I wasn’t sure what else to do. Then my friend Marianne, in one of those great round-about ways, showed my work to someone who’d heard of Brian Doyle. This person read a couple of these little pieces, named them “parables,” and thought Brian Doyle, who had actually published such things, and might be a good connection for me–someone who might make me feel less alone.
So I kept writing, bought some Brian Doyle books, and found we were, indeed, soul siblings. He obviously had my same co-author, and an advanced, enviable writing style–endearing honesty, long runs of home-made adjectives, off-beat insights, joy, despair, grace, and goofiness. But it was too late. By the time I’d written a few more, Brian was very ill. I watched and listened from a distance, and decided to create this blog in his honor. I don’t think he ever knew, but I bet he does now, as his spirit-drenched molecules dance unhinged and free from his near-sightedness, bad back, and cancer. His last prayer/letter/poem included asking if God might let him come back as an otter. This is one way Brian and I are different. Coming back as an otter is not among my top ten preferences. But that’s okay. The commonality we likely all share is the sense that being human is a great privilege. Life is short, with sprinklings of wonder. But so much goes unanswered. So much potential, squandered.
It reminds me of the last lines of W.S. Merwin’s poem, Words from a Totem Animal:
Send me out into another life
lord because this one is growing faint
I do not think it goes all the way
Brian, you’ll make an awesome otter, if that’s how it goes. Our co-author may have even more spectacular plans for you, now that you’re floating in the Vast Mercy, wrapped in the Sunrise, swaddled in the Ferocious Lap of Love. I think I see you dazzling into points of light. I think I hear you laughing like a mad man. But for now, in our earthboundness, you’ll be greatly missed—even by strangers.
Rita, I am on top of a mountain east of San Diego in the early morning setting of the chaparral. Your post is perfect timing as I imagine Brian’s passing was,too. I am grateful to all your links,connections & guides. You help me. So did Brian. Have a wonderful Sunday & Memorial Day. Love, Sandy
Sent from my iPhone
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Hi Sandy, Forgive me if I already thanked you and commented back, but I can’t find the little arrow that tells me it went through and I wanted to be sure to say thanks!!
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Thanks Sandy. Weirdly, I miss someone I never knew. I appreciate hearing from you, and send wildness back :).
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Beautiful, Rita. You’ve become one of my invisible friends, too, thanks to a link that Mary Herak Sand made. You throw me mooring lines when the sea gets rough, add sparkle when it doesn’t. Keep writing, please. Love, Sylvia
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Sylvia, I LOVE invisible friends. They are the best!! Thanks so much.
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This is a beautiful tribute, Rita. As I hug close the image of light partials laughing and dancing, my thoughts, with meta, reach out to all others with loved ones sparing with cancer in the universe we all share.
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Thanks Lora. We share the universe with things not yet transformed. It can be most challenging!
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Share even with the damned auto spell that changes particals to partials.
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🙂
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