A friend, remembered
Nearly a year ago, one of my close friends began experiencing a radical and rapid opening of awareness and spirituality. Nearly a year later, I am mourning the loss of his mortal form and still grappling to find the takeaway from this series of events.
To know him was to know a person so willing to give all of himself for his friends and family that it seemed nearly unbelievable.
An endless well of support and encouragement, a willing listener, a trusted confidant, a razor sharp wit, an indomitable mind and spirit.
We met as so many of my generation have, on a message board, and our online friendship grew over time into an amazing group of people who were brought together by a common interest, and one that over time blossomed into a thriving friend group with many members meeting up and deepening the connections we started making online so many years ago.
A group that rallied around him in his darkest hours as his worldview and spirituality were thrust into a different dimension. A group that would check in at every opportunity as he went down a new path, a path some of us did not understand, but one that we all hoped would find him the peace he had seemed to be missing for many years, if not his adult life.
Through the years, he would ebb and flow from light to dark, going silent for a month at a time while he fought demons that we rarely got to see. He would return and life would continue on, and we’d all be relieved that we had more time with him. Through all of this, the group remained steadfastly by his side, even if traveling alongside him in silence.
Ultimately, that peace he was searching for was found in the most difficult way for those of us left behind by his ultimate actions. It’s not that day that I choose to remember, it’s the times that I marveled at a man who seemed to be, in many ways, the best of us. My one regret is that I never got to meet him in person; I can only imagine the energy he would have given back.
His spiritual journey stirred those around him and he left a wealth of information behind on his various platforms for others who might be struggling as he was. He gave everything he felt he had to give until his final day. That’s who he was until the very end.
As I’ve struggled to make my own peace with his absence, I retreated to the mountains I love so much, hills that give me healing energy and inspiration every time I visit them. I was approached by a stranger during this trip who had an aura that immediately stood out to me. This stranger connected immediately with me over a shared interest, unspoken as it was, and directed me to visit Saint Catherine's Chapel on the Rock. He was adamant that I do this if I had just 30 minutes of extra time before my flight the next day.
I had no information on this Chapel short of the location as provided by the stranger. We found it closed to the public on Mondays, and found ourselves there with a few folks that would come and go as they found it shuttered for the day. I took a few photos, walked the grounds, and felt the power that such a place can have on a spirit, grounded in rock and wood at the foothills of majestic mountains. It was only after I returned home that I discovered John Paul II had visited and blessed it in 1993. One fellow photographer commented that he’d never seen a picture with no one else at the church, truly a curiosity that I did not know the significance of at the time.
One of my friend’s last instructions to me was to pursue my talents and my passions and eschew the “traditional” path and traps that so many find themselves beholden to. He was the biggest supporter of my art and photography short of my mother (and how could anyone match a supportive mother?)…I thought of him constantly as I hiked the hills and valleys of Colorado, his spirit with me as I reveled in one of the major activities I truly love in this world.
When I returned home and began working through my photos, this one stood out from the rest for the obvious symbolism the light and shadow represent. My friend’s final words posted online were “As above, so below”, and no picture I’ve ever taken could sum that up as perfectly as this one. A house of God that at first glance appears haphazardly pieced together but one that is ultimately rooted in bedrock. The perfect imagery for his final chapter. I have no doubt he was standing beside me in that field as I was inspired by the scene, walking beside me in silence for a change.
A candle now burns inside the Chapel in his remembrance, just as his spirit burns in the hearts of all that knew him.
This is his photo, one that he used me to create and one I will always cherish as a symbol of his goodness and strength and fight against that darkness below. We miss you, and we love you forever.
As above, so below