In Memoriam

My friend Craig was the vehicle for a tremendous spirit.  This spirit always had a tendency to vibrate faster than other spirits on this planet, and one day last week, it reached such a great velocity that it vibrated right out of his body.

Of course in my less enlightened state I am very upset because it sure looks like Craig has dropped dead of a heart attack, succumbing to a diet of double meat, double cheese, bacon–topped Togo sandwiches and Cherry Dr. Pepper.  In reality I know that what appears to be an untimely death is all part of a perfect Divine plan, but right now I am very very sad.

I will be writing about Craig for years to come.  I have dozens of anecdotes and pithy bits of his wisdom to impart.  In fact it has occurred to me that I could mine his letters and emails to me and make a career of documenting his time on Earth.  Plato had Socrates, Paul had Jesus, Carlos Castaneda had Don Juan.  I was blessed to have Craig in my life.

I met Craig twenty-one years ago.  He appeared at a time when I was deeply depressed.  He touched my heart and he gave me hope.

Back then he told me he was a Perfect Master, a spiritual being who had reached enlightenment in a previous incarnation but who had returned this lifetime as an act of service.  I know this sounds pretty arrogant, but Craig wasn’t arrogant.  Often, in fact, he seemed egoless.  Other times he seemed like your typical clueless man who doesn’t get what we women are talking about.  Yes, even Perfect Masters have limitations.

But I always believed his perfect master story.  He seemed to be psychic and often it appeared he was reading my mind.  But that’s not why I thought he was a master.  He was intelligent and wise, always giving me the right advice at the right time.  But that’s not why I thought he was a master.  I believed he was a master because he was the most joyful person I have ever known.  If I was upset about something, he’d get me to laugh about it.  He didn’t own a car so I’d often drive to his house and pick him up so we could go out to lunch or a movie.  He’d get in the car and within minutes he’d have me laughing.  It’s not that he was particularly witty or a great joke-teller.  It was that he had the most infectious smile.  You couldn’t be in his presence for long without smiling yourself.  The older he got the more he looked like one of those laughing Buddhas.  He was a big happy bear of a man and when I was with him everything was in perspective, and everything was joyful.

Right now I feel so sad.  I can’t believe he’s gone.  Really, I can’t believe it.  I’ve lost a lot of people I’ve loved in this life.  I’m a frickin’ expert on acceptance!  But I can’t believe Craig is gone.  The man was a mystic for crying out loud.  I can’t believe he won’t figure out a way to come back around and say at least one more pertinent thing to me.  C’mon old man:  you know where to find me!

In the meantime, Craig, I am continuing to write.  As you often told me, it’s what I was born to do.