Conversations... with Dad: Thank You Kristian Anderson

Monday, January 9, 2012

Thank You Kristian Anderson

Kristian Anderson passed on January 2, 2012. I've learned a great deal from him. Sometime ago I posted a YouTube video tribute he made for his wife. Periodically, I would return to it just for a smile. It's a most beautiful love story in one four minute video. This is it:

Rachel's Birthday Letter - Hi-res from Kristian Anderson on Vimeo.

I've followed Kristian and Rachel's journey from then on via his blog "there's a crack in everything". He fought to stay here, but was always ready to go. When I read "The Final Call", his final words posted by his wife Rachel, my heart broke. He wrote:

"How the light gets in.

As I mentioned at the start of this journey it’s a Leonard Cohen lyric. The truth being we’re all broken, we’re all cracked and what so many people see as a fault or a malfunction really is something to be considered useful. I’m not sure how much longer I have left but it appears that the physical and medical signs are all pointing to my end.
And, what a great time to go, right at Christmas-time.

Just wonderful."

And, in that moment I got it. One of those "aha" moments when you know that you know. So, I let that crack be, and I let the light in.

I was surprised how bright it was and how it illuminated the cracks in me that I work hard to conceal and a great deal of time and energy to maintain: with the "silly putty" that I used to play with as a child; with the plaster that was beginning to crumble; and for the real tough stuff, the concreate and welds. What I learned about all these barriers and shields is that they block the light. Any inability to allow me to be vulnerable denies my access to learning and strength . What I think makes me feel safe and comfortable takes away my ability to BE!

I decided to take out my chisel. I'm going after the big stuff first. The cracks that really look like caverns. I know that is where the biggest learning is, because they are the ones that scare me the most.

I found this rendition of Leonard Cohen's "Anthem". I'm partial to this interpretation by Jill Christensen and Perla Batalla. I love that Perla sings with her whole being. Watching her as she interprets a song is a pretty awesome experience. Jill Christensen is no slouch either. They are really pure light.

PURE LIGHT. Thank You, Kristian Anderson.

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About this Blog

My father died in 2003, 6 months after my mother. After his death, one of the things I missed most was our conversations. So I started this blog. We would sit at the kitchen table or on the front porch and have these long, philosophical conversations about the state of everything. Then we would solve all of the world's problems over a cigarette and a cup of coffee. One of the warmest memories I have was of him sitting on the front porch talking to me while I painted around him. It was the beginning of summer and he was commenting on how he wished he could pick up a brush and help. He often would read something from the paper and then voice his righteous indignation. It would end with a "It's a damn shame!" or "They must think we're stupid." I miss that. I miss the bond we shared around joint perspectives. And I miss the knowledge that could only come from one seasoned with so many life experiences, especially now that I have come to the point in my life that I know the real important questions to ask. I am 60 years old, and came of age during the '60s. I'm a proud boomer. I remember when poets poeted

Writers wrote... Actors acted out, Painters created art from everything and anything that remained still long enough to be painted

and there was truly civil disobedience at the very thought of someone taking away any of our freedoms.

And the world began to shift... A little. Well, I took a rest. And it must have been a long rest. I feel like Rip Van Winkle. Anyway, by the time I REALLY woke up things were shifting back. Way back. And right now, I gotta say I'm feeling like it's gonna take more thin I got to turn this around. And my dad's not here to share my anger, to talk about our outrage, and to answer my questions. So here is where I can have the conversations I would have with him if he were still here and we could share a cigarette and a cup of coffee on his front porch.