This is the final hour of September 12, the 56th anniversary of the funeral of my 7-weeks-old son, who died in his sleep of crib death as I entered my last semester at the University of Alabama School of Law in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. It took me a very long time to understand his death so unhinged me that there was no way I could fit myself into the plans my father, his father and I had for me. In that context, my son died so I could become someone else entirely.
Some people probably wish I had not become someone else entirely, but I am glad I did, because I hate to think how my life would have gone and who I would have become if I had not become unhinged and was forced, basically, to become someone else entirely. It was a slow progression visible in my non-fiction books, sometimes accused of being fiction. In their own way, my poetry, soul art and three novels are even more indicative of who I really am. Tree reads in many languages and in braille and audio at archive.org, which is operated by American colleges. The books also are free reads in two overseas free internet libraries, and on Torrent platforms.
If I had to hazard a wild ass guess, I’d say my son somehow steered how I wrote those books. Some people might say that’s crazy talk, but they have not lived in my skin since my son died, and they have no way of knowing what is crazy and what is not crazy in that context. Other than they are crazy, if they actually think they have any say at all in what I became and how I now perceive life and people and myself.
So, blythe spirit, my only begotten son, I hope you are doing well and are glad to be who you really are, for that is really all that really matters, I think, regardless of what other people might think or even say.
My eyelids are drooping, and I’m headed to my bed in my monk’s apartment, hoping for dreams that help me move toward, instead of backward.
This next morning, I thought Alice Strange’s eulogy in Kundalina, Alabama: A Strange Tale, which I read the other day and burst into tears, sums it up nicely:
God’s daughter, Alice Strange, came to Earth,
Her mission to experience what God had made,
To live, laugh and play, to work, love and hate,
To hurt and be hurt, to forgive and to die.
It is said the soul comes to Earth in fear,
Knowing there will be much pain in life.
Yet come Alice did, for all must be initiated
To earn the right to be with God.
Alice encountered many barriers to living her life,
Ones that do not live in the spirit realms-
Fear, anger, criticisms, loss, loneliness and grief,
And she experienced and rose above them all.
There were many important choices for Alice,
But the biggest choice was only this:
Whether to live her life to the fullest,
Or to safely blend in with the herd.
Now her course is finished, her return sounded.
Her soul has welcomed that signal,
Knowing she will soon be home,
Where a place has been prepared for her.
Now come her time to stand and be counted,
To give back her talents multiplied tenfold.
And when her roll is called up yonder,
She will hear, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
sloanbashinsky@yahoo.com
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