The Crossings

I am in utter disbelief at what transpired this past weekend.  Whose work is this? What divine force weaves such encrypted patterns forcing us to accept the most horrific and devastating of circumstances, frozen inside the same teardrop that holds the most jovial and hopeful emotions.

I went to Austin, Texas to a place ironically titled, "The Crossings", to celebrate the wedding of a very close family friend.  Not only was the trip to celebrate the new love in his life, but it was symbolically, a converging, a crossing of his past, present, and their future.  A retreat, where the oldest of friends re-encountered eachother - as men.  Where his family celebrated the triumph of their eldest son.  A place where California met with New York, met with Texas.  Where hip hop, met country, met love songs. It was in fact, a crossing... more so than any of us would have ever wished.  In that day and a half, we laughed, sang, danced, and cried.  We were forced to drinks God's bitter brew of: Life, Love, and even Death.  Forced to face all the mystery, in one heaping tablespoon. 

Every detail was meticulously thought of.  Every moment played out in the heads of the groom and his bride.  The way the sun would set casting  shadows against the mountains.  The gift bags for the groomsmen which included engraved flasks (to keep it on the low), gum (for the stank alcohol breathe) and Alleve (for the next days hangover).    They handpicked the site for the rehearsal dinner.  They agonized over the DJ's playlist.  And they silently waited for the after party by the pool.  It was to be an outside wedding overlooking the rolling Austin hills.  Below, the serene lake sat still as if its waters knew secrets it was afraid to tell, while the fog covered up their truth.  It was to be a beautiful ceremony amidst nature's breeze, the serene shadows, and sun rays.  Despite the subtle objection from the clouds with rain threatening the idyllic scene, human nature and its optimism temporarily prevailed over God's often unpredictable and mysterious way.

We drank, we danced, we partied, we flowed, we celebrated, we filmed.  We, like Greek God's and Godesses indulged in that festival and celebration till our eyelids half closed, and our cheeks fiery and rose colored burned with the glow of pleasure and content.  As the mountain stars continued to carry our glow deep into the morning, we gave them the night.  One by one, we flickered back into the wood cabins, leaving only the most determined and resilient youths to continue the debauchery.

***

No amount of training, certificate of accreditation or job title, wisdom gained from previous experience, or time spent on this earth could have equipped any of us well enough to endure the tidal wave of emotion that would soon crash on the shores of our souls.  Harsher still against the hearts of those closest to the groom and his family.

Somewhere in the night, a young man fell.  How? or When? I cannot say.  Why? I wish I knew.  And Where? I'm sorry that I do.  The sculpture of his young body lay there, stubbled cheeks gently pressed against the dirt.  Calm and still.  Still as that morning.  Heavy as the grogginess that was still inside us.  Quiet as the moment, just before I heard the screams from the grooms stepfather.  I reluctantly recall the whole thing in flashes, because it is all I can bear to summon: white sheets, red splotches, screaming and yelling, my brother, the morning dew, the biting cold, the groom, the bride, the emergency phone call, the tears, the prayer, the confusion, the fear, and the silent and nervous hope inside the eyes of every man, woman, and child who beheld the surreal scene.

I revisit a truth that has been hurled against my body and my heart for longer than I care to remember: The divine comedy that life (in its essence, in its purest and raw form) is exactly that which we love and fear most.  The closest way to describe its duality, its ying and yang force, its married opposition is: bittersweet.  This past weekend that truth was dealt with such force that the very notion, which at times has stupefied me with a grace filled wonderment, repells me to anger, disdain, and frustration.  I cannot comprehend in what universe these oppossing forces of jubilation and tragedy must meet so succinctly inside the hearts of men.

I dare say, it is more ugly than fair, and more gruesome than wonder filled.  A young man is now gone, lives only in the hearts of his friends, and the photos and videos of his youth, the memory of his witty comebacks, and the vitality of his age.  I am different. Not what or who I was before.  I am left playing out the moments before and the hours after.  I think about our family friend for whom my questions can only brush the surface.  I think about  the ocean of despair inside his soul, and the seed of hope twinkling between the embrace of him and his wife.  I think about their friends.  I think about D-low, and the unspoken bond that can be found when swapping stories, being crazy, and sharing laughter.  Please Rest in Peace God, because we are awake in turmoil and will do our best to keep the love.

I wonder which direction to point the furrowed lines on my brow.  At the one sitting next to me? - whose wide eyed glance only reflects my shock, at the ground below? - and the evils swimming beneath its surface. or at the almighty sky?  No matter where I direct my questions, I am only left with the crossings of my own mind as it reaches the many dead ends of loose logic and forces me to cling to one thing only.  The love in my heart which forces my hands to wrap closer and tighter to those I have left.