Let Me Wonder

Oh, how I wish I could wake up naturally every morning, and have time for the things I wish to do. Today, I had an extraordinary need to clear my head before church. I had too much on my mind, and getting on the bike is usually the best way for me to find clarity. It had been a long week, an exhausting weekend, and there were a few disappointments I hadn’t quite figured out what to do with.

The weather was precious. Clouds, no wind. 65º. All was well. My mind was racing in a good way; I can only describe it as a pile of toothpicks being shaken out of a canister with holes at the top. The harder I shake myself, the better the thoughts fall.

Then, at mile six of 21, Black Hole Sun came on the radio. 

Unbidden, unwanted, and totally alarming, tears streamed down my cheeks, bested only by the wind on my face as I rode past the palo verde. The soundtrack to my teenage life, Chris Cornell, dead for nine years now. His voice still carries secrets into my soul. 

And then my mind, she played a nasty trick on me. With my eyes wide open, tears still flowing freely, and ever so grateful for a pair of dark sunglasses, I had a vision of heaven.

Not the prescribed heaven. Not heaven as you might imagine it, or perhaps even want it. Not the spirit world, not the kingdoms of glory. No dominions, principalities, or concourses of angels in admiration of a loving deity.

Instead, I pictured Chris Cornell sitting on a stool, singing into a microphone, eyes closed. Next to him, another musical hero of mine emerges, seated at a grand piano, smiling gently as his fingers move across the keys.

George Winston. Gone for three years. 

Chris and George. God, I miss them both.

I don’t know what they’re playing. I don’t care. But they are there, and they are creating something together. And it’s probably not perfect, but it’s improvisational, and it’s moving both of them. And it’s moving me to fresh tears.

Simply enjoying each other’s company. I see my mom and my brother there, and even though our mortal lives together were tangled in trauma, blood, and bitter words, maybe they walked by Chris and George and felt a bit of peace. Familial peace. A bit of emotion that transcends whatever veil rests between us. Their presence doesn't undo what happened. Nor does it have to. Maybe there's just a little peace to be found in that moment. Because heaven or earth, healing goes on.

We talk a lot about the legacies people leave behind. My mom and brother left theirs. I will surely deal with that one in due time.  

Chris and George? There’s something comforting about knowing their work survives them. I can listen to Autumn or December or Montana whenever I want. (Please, just ask my wife. I play it all the damn time)

But their recordings are finite.

There are songs Chris never wrote. Melodies George never discovered. Ideas that hadn’t yet occurred to either of them when their lives ended. And we’ll never hear them. That bothers me more than I know how to articulate.

I don’t know what happens when we die. I’m increasingly uncomfortable with people who claim to know with certainty. I have faith that guides me, hope that sustains me, and spiritual witness that buoys me. I also have questions, doubts, and experiences that don’t always fit together particularly well.

I would like there to be more. Not necessarily more work or more responsibilities. I don’t want more things to prove.

Just more possibility.

More time to understand and discover. To make something beautiful, without any particular obligation to do so.

Maybe that’s why I envisioned that imaginary stage. I don’t need Chris and George to perform for anybody. I don’t need them to produce another masterpiece.

I just see them having the opportunity.

PS, and this is a heavy postscript. If reading these words caused any amount of fear to swell within your soul, I need you to pause. Take a measured step back, and remember who I am. It will never be your responsibility, dear reader, to render precaution or persuasion as the primary volley. These are just cautious musings, carefully meted out at 11:26pm after a heavy week of mental arithmetic. Carry on. I know I will.