Everything and Nothing

 

Since you left

Absence has moved in

The rooms of our home

We filled with our art

Our travels our nostalgia

The Whirling Dervish

You brought to me from Egypt

The wooden Vermont cow

Shaking its head

At the loss of you

Feel the emptiness

For you are everywhere and nowhere

We are ghosts you and I

Among the spring azaleas

As the dogwoods open

As the honeysuckle fragrance

Reminds me of I forget what

The blooms fade as we have

And I am the sole vessel

Of our feelings our dreams

Our desire to grow old together

You are my compass 

With no magnetic pole

Our joy I can only recall

The guide to  every action adrift

My mind is filled by you

Though the sails of our lives

Can not unfurl

Though your fingertips tap

Subtle love upon my navel

Darryl Gossett

 

Darryl, weeks before his death...

Husband, brother, uncle, cousin, friend, writer, editor, kind and generous humanitarian, Darryl Gossett served as a medical editor for over a decade at the Emory University School of Medicine. He won awards for articles he wrote on Alzheimer's and other medical advances. He also served as a medical editor at WebMD. He was the president of the Atlanta Chapter of the American Medical Writers Association. He also taught Creative Writing at Emory, and published a music review in one of Atlanta's journals. Darryl was a man of great creative ideas and an astonishing empathy and sensitivity.

Darryl spent the last 35 years of his life with his husband and life-long friend Jack Miller, and with the many friends and relatives they both loved.  

Darryl's death was not expected. A month before his admission to Emory Hospital, Darryl was fine, in good health. Yes, he did have Diabetes. His doctor recommended and prescribed Ozempic for the Diabetes, the high blood sugar Darryl had, and his being overweight.  Gradually, Darryl ate less and less, even had nausea and vomiting when he drank water or anything else. Gradually he grew weaker and I encouraged him to see the doctor, and then to go to the hospital. Neither he nor I saw his condition as life-threatening. 

On the Monday when he finally agreed to the hospital, we called 911 and medics carried him to an ambulance. Emory Emergency admitted him weak and seriously dehydrated.  The next 14 days, first in the ICU, then in a regular hospital room, and finally in hospice were as traumatic and grueling as any either of us ever experienced. The Liver specialists and the Kidney specialist at first gave us hope he would recover. Yet, after dialysis, protein nourishment, and of course, water and hydration, Darryl did not recover. He suffered kidney and liver failure, though the Liver specialists told me he would have recovered if they could restore his kidneys. 

Darryl was 64 years old, soon to be on Medicare. He came in and out of consciousness. Most of the time he was convinced he would die, though I told him he would recover throughout the first week. That is what I believed and hoped. But he did not. The doctors told me he would not recover full consciousness or strength. On one evening, Darryl told me he was afraid, but only that one time. 

To watch him continue to weaken was heart rending. Even on his death bed, Darryl was beautiful, kind, without pain, and smiling. We bonded those 14 days on a deep level I am unable to convey. His changing face and his comments, his expressed feelings for me and our love for each other,  all will accompany me into old age and my own death. Contrary to popular belief, life really doesn't go on. It transforms into a zombie-like state for the lovers who remain a while longer in this world. We do not lose our humor or our sense of beauty. Yet, our world, which itself is under human control, is failing. 

Darryl in Hospice.

From Valentine's Day to Springtime

We have enjoyed Winter and Spring in Rabun County, including The Rabun Lake Hotel, Helen's Cottage in Dillard, and dining at the Woodfire Grill in Highlands, and  Hush Cuban Restaurant in Clayton. We have also stayed at Blackrock Mountain State Park with its trails and sweeping mountain views. What a perfect area of North Carolina and Georgia to be in touch with nature, to have tranquility, to hear ones own thoughts.

 

Lake Rabun Hotel

 

  Hush Cuban Cafe

Art History has also been a pleasure.

Here Jan Steen shows us how

a 17th Century Dutch family

enjoyed living, a lesson for us all. 

The Arctic Vortex (snow, sleet, freezing rain)

Enjoying Cora, the Winter Storm, converting Druid Hills into a winter playground. 

Best of All Possible Worlds (Thoughts from the Mountain)

 

    

Giotto: Judas Kiss

     The Monadology of Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz fascinated me. My own interpretation of it came to be that the Supreme Monad, the Greatest Being, was God; all other beings, all monads, of which there are many, channeled that Being as adequately as they were able. Leibnitz was a panpsychist who held that everything possessed some form of consciousness. Humans were the highest form of being after God. As such, the creations of humans: art, science, literature, monuments to God, all  embodied what emanates from the Supreme Being. Plato's Forms of Beauty, Truth, Justice, likewise come from God. Our world flows from Godhead; hence, this is the best of all possible worlds. 

  Let us consider the humans who became Gods. Jesus comes to mind, as do Quetzalcoatl, Ganymede, Siddhartha-Buddha, and a host of holy men. Monads become the Supreme Monad, Yes? Yet each of their stories are tainted with suffering, violence, betrayal. Think of Saint Peter cutting off the ear of a Roman Soldier as Judas betrays Jesus with a kiss. Are the Greek philosophers correct that evil is no more than the absence of good?

     Hasn't History proven Leibnitz wrong.?  Ten thousand years of war, torture, starvation, violence, rape, and murder; but not one century of Peace, how can this be? 

    Despite the life long efforts of pacifists, bodhisattvas, activists for civil disobedience, missionaries, humanists, philanthropists, of all the monads who have worked for Peace and prosperity, the Supreme Being, hasn't The Great Monad failed? Or more truthfully, there is no Supremely Good Monad, just as there is  no Supreme Evil. There are only flawed, limited monads whose confusion, whose inaction,  like that of Hamlet, causes more violence and death. As Hamlet mouthed it, Nothing is either right or wrong, but thinking makes it so. We are all Hamlet 's ghosts. 

   The world today is as confused as ever, violence and cruelty in every dark gathering of compass-less monads. Today, I stand on a balcony, viewing the fog as the mountains and world beyond fade into seeming non-existence. 

   Humans are mostly windowless monads (to use the Leibnitz term), unable to see or feel beyond their private needs, their private desires. Empathy and compassion escape us as does the universal harmony Leibnitz or even Pythagoras dreamed of. Ours is not the best possible world; and we are destroying what exists with our greed and lack of vision. People, monads, would rather cut off their ears, blind themselves like Oedipus, cut out their own tongues, than face the truth of our undying original sin, indifference. Our pretense of caring falls far short of action. We crucify our entire planet rather than admit the truth of what we are doing. 

    The fog, the light rain, the stillness have their own beauty. Think of what nature there is, of the art, literature and music we create as a vast mandala, such as Buddhist monks make. We shall brush it all away. Yet how divine, how sublime, that such beauty ever existed at all. 

Mist in the Mountains

 Today in Art History we looked at a painting of mist in the mountains by Wang Lu 

https://smarthistory.org/wang-lu-landscapes-of-mount-hua-huashan/

Wang Lü, Landscapes of Mount Hua (Huashan)

Therein is the mystery of human existence, an individual seeking wisdom or some form of revelation and enlightenment in overwhelming, sublime mountains. That is the dream of most philosophers.

This evening I am on the cusp of a momentous parting of realities in my country. On one hand lies a path to more acceptance, compassion, an understanding of our place on the globe, our being a part of nature, of the beauty of diversity. On the other, the barbarism of despotic rule, fueled by intolerance and hatred of what is different, hatred of the "others." There is a path of destruction of enemies, cruelty, lack of care and empathy for those in need or less privileged. It is the path of bigotry and of no connection with nature or our planet. 

No one seems to know what future will unfold for us. Though, like a few others I admire, I feel a momentum, a surge for the change Kamala Harris embodies. She could be the present world spirit riding on horseback along the evolving Tao, the Way of being. Could be. 

So, tonight, Darryl made Pumpkin butter and biscuits, which with cream cheese, completed our dinner. It is a cold autumn night with cold drizzle falling, some fog, like the mist in Wang Lu's mountains. The seasons change, though another hurricane, Rafael, rises from the waters of the Caribbean. So too, all the seeming permanence of the mountains are shifted by the mist, the white paper of the artist, left untouched. Thus emptiness is the substance shifting and making the reality of the mountains. The wandering philosopher sits on his promontory staring, mesmerized, enchanted. . 

Jack

Autumn 2024

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

Summer lets go it's hot grasp,

 at last.

The seasons shift and we repeat what we have experienced so many times. 

Again I am teaching Art History, currently looking at the revelry and gay life painted on the wall of the Tomb of the Diver. 

Again the country struggles with an election between the person I call evil for his lack of empathy, his cruel monologues, his attacks on virtually everyone who is not a white Christian nationalist male, his extremism; and the normal, liberal, Kamala Harris  with her attempt to return the country to sanity, to respect for diversity and empathy for one another. 

Mornings of coffee and pastry on the screen porch, dining on Darryl's superb cooking and our favorite cafes and restaurants. 

Still, I feel the loss of regular times together with my friends of the past. Are we all fading away from one another as we age? 

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.3808497685752&type=3

October this year offers Darryl and me a full autumn break: days and nights in Asheville, at the Pisgah Inn, drives on the Blue Ridge Parkway, time in Highlands, and cabin 6, beautiful, high up in Black Rock Mountain State Park. 

Life is gay. 

Life is sad. 

It's all OK,

So I am glad.

Love, Jack

 

Life is Good

 At 77, what good is my life? 

It would be worth a lot less without the love of my life, my husband, friend, and life companion for 34 years. Here he is:

 Love alone, however, is hardly enough to make a life meaningful, right? We need luxuries: 

We need luxurious food, good cooking, something to drink, a taste that brings delight: Champagne...

 Marzipan Croissants

Pumpkin Pie

 

We must have Philosophy, Literature, Music, Visual Art.

 Caravaggio; but also travel, seeing the world...

 

Hawaii

Napali Coast

Ueno Temple, Tokyo  

Life is gardens, concerts, friendship, dance, birdsong...

Yet it is also, sorrow, loss, illness, death for us all.

It is also the sorrow and suffering of millions of animals and fellow humans. Hunger, war, cruelty, despair. Depression resulting from the encounter with the evils of life, the indifference to others, the revenge and malevolence that motivate too many. Life is learning how to deal with the suffering, to make it less, to do good beyond ourselves. Life is awareness and celebration of the diversity of others, encouraging it among our friends, among the wealth of humanity with its cultural achievements. Life is empathy and compassion.

 Speaking of Champagne, The people in our lives have been the champagne, the joy of life:

 https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10220351280786918&type=3

 

 

Lucky 13

 

Thirteen people have made me who I am over the 77 years I have lived. Others have been close to me, and maybe I am underestimating their impact on my life. I am not including family, among whom I count the Killians. These 13 are to me undeniable and inseparable from or essential to my psyche, my person, however anyone dissects it, and regardless if I ever see them again. 

In the order of the date on which we met:

 

Apple core, the Sea

 

Sharon, Blue Ridge Mountains

Degas, Bather 

Jake, New Orleans

 

 Joseph Mydell, Savannah

 Lynn, Savannah

Cal, Savannah

Jack and Jocelin, Hilton Head Island

Darryl, Atlanta

Starr Tays, Chattanooga

 Will, Lookout Mountain 

Myriad Juxtapositions 

Walnut Bridge, Chattanooga

  

Dr. James Land Jones at home.

Tybee Island.

 

Starr and Dar, Paradise Gardens

Sharon. U. of Virginia 

Joce, Caspersen Beach 

 Jake, Halfmoon Bay, CA

Darryl, Mykonos

Darryl, Land's End Inn, Provincetown

Julian, awaiting the Total Eclipse of the Sun

Gaston Street, Savannah

 

Joseph, Dad's Office, Oglethorpe Ave. 

Breakfast, Gordon Street.

 

Musician

Married on Cape Cod