Wednesday, September 23, 2009

RIP: Chris McCarthy, 1952-2009

I woke up this morning to the news of the death of an old friend.

I bow my head.

My feelings don't translate to thought. They rush to fill every crevice, like a flash flood in a canyon. Until the surge passes, nothing matters but the tormented rush of water in its most powerful, most insistent form.

The canyon will re-emerge in time. Battered, it will need a season to refurbish. Flora and fauna will appear. To those who have never seen it before, it will look, simply, like a canyon.

But it is changed. Those who know the transformed canyon know this because they hold in their memories the time before the flood, and they see the tracings it left behind.

And now they sit in mindfulness, present to any moment under the sun when there is new growth and the flutter of birds. They know another flood will come another time to reshape the canyon once more, and then again, until floods and rain and wind eventually blow it to dust, and the dust becomes part of something else, and the cycle is renewed.

This is my moment to remember Chris McCarthy. Chris is the name of the flood now scouring the canyon walls.

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