Several months after Rory died, still thick in the blanket of grief, someone I love dearly invited me to a show about death. I said yes, of course, but not because I was interested in the show about death. I said yes because I wanted to spend time with this person whom I love dearly, and any opportunity to do so was an immediate ‘yes’. She let me know that she didn’t really know what the show was, or who the speaker was, but that she bought the tickets on a whim, and it seemed like I should be the one to go.
So we made a plan and executed it. We drove to Asheville, had dinner together, and then walked over to the venue where this man was going to talk to us about how to “Die Wise.” We filed into the room with hundreds of strangers, not knowing at all what to expect, or even completely how to settle into the room. Our seats were fairly close to the front row, on the far right-hand side. We chatted quietly as the room filled, and waited expectantly as the lights were dimmed, and someone came out onto the stage.
I can only speak for myself, but I was a little bit nonplussed by the opening act. It was a group of musicians, unusual instruments, a little bit ‘out there’, a little bit otherwordly. I tried to suspend thought and judgement and just allow myself to be present in the room, and I found myself being carried away a little – I think for a while I felt like I could SEE the colors of the music as it was being played. I floated away in a cloud of uncaring, and despite the unconventional nature of the introducing act, I enjoyed it immensely. When the band finished playing, the original someone came back onto the stage to introduce our speaker.
I wish I could remember the introduction. I remember thinking, “I’ve never heard of this man, how does he have SO many accolades and titles??” I was very impressed by the introduction, and expectantly awaited my first glimpse of this speaker/author/poet.
Stephen Jenkinson walked out onto the stage, and I took him all in – a small, older gentleman dressed far more for the farm than for the road or show. He had on well worn boots, a colorful vest, and a flat-topped cowboy hat. His hair fell in a long braid down his back, twisted with grey. He had a white beard above which his shining eyes smiled out at us. He thanked the speaker for the introduction, and made a dry comment about how the intros always make him seem much more special than he actually is.
I laughed. I remember laughing SO much. Stephen was funny. Engaging. Passionate. He told stories about his life, and stories about deaths that he’d been present for, and what he’d figured out about dying in a culture that refuses to look at death. I was enchanted. I don’t know that I took a full breath the entire time… and time stood absolutely still. Two hours passed in what felt like mere moments, and then it was over. My eyes were wet with tears, and I was standing and clapping with all my heart, but it was over.
My friend and I filed out with all of the others, and I knew, wholeheartedly, that I had been changed. I had shifted. I would never be the same again. I walked into the room one person, and came out an entirely different someone. I couldn’t find the words to explain what I felt. I looked at my friend, eyes wide, and we agreed – that man was something special. He was speaking real, absolute truth. A prophet.
It wasn’t long after that that I bought his book and began reading it. I devoured it. I couldn’t put it down. Constantly and consistently, it challenged my views and broadened my knowledge. My friend and I agreed that we needed him to come here, to Charlotte. We wanted to see him speak again, and we wanted everyone we knew to get to see him speak as well. When you witness and experience something remarkable, you want to share it with others.
I contacted Stephen’s people, and inquired about another speaking engagement – what it would take to bring him here to Charlotte to give another talk. We emailed back and forth for quite some time before I was informed that Stephen WAS going to go on tour again, but this time, instead of just book readings, he was going to bring a musician with him. They were going to do a real show, with speaking, and reading, and music, and lights – it was going to be something fantastic to behold, and would I be interested in hosting?
I was in – 100% yes. I absolutely wanted to organize, and put in the hours, and get everyone that I know and love to come and see this man, this show. I felt like it would be incredibly easy for me to sell out tickets to this show – surely EVERYONE I know would come? Surely everyone who has been touched by Rory’s death would be interested? Obviously everyone in the world would be as ready and willing to learn more about death and dying as I am.
Holy. Moly. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Now, yes, of course – all of my dearest friends were interested immediately. I have SO MUCH love and affection and gratitude for each of those that were instantly willing to buy tickets and come see this fellow speak just because I suggested they come. It’s a great honor to be regarded so highly, and I don’t take it lightly.
However. The work of spreading the word of this man, this music, this show… the real, nitty-gritty of the work has been SO MUCH HARDER than I ever could have expected. Because the word doesn’t spread. It’s true; no one wants to talk about death. No one wants to hear about death. No one wants to learn more about death. No one wants to spend an evening listening to someone who might crack them open by talking about life, and love, and grief, and the end of life – no matter how beautiful it may be.
And so, now just two weeks before the show comes to Charlotte, I find myself at a complete loss. I don’t know where to go, or how to spread the word to those that might be interested. I have hit wall after wall, written hundreds of emails to no response, sent out handfuls of private messages to lukewarm reception. I find myself feeling like a failure, like I took on too much, or I was the wrong person to do this job.
So here’s what I’ve got. I know that I can’t wait to see this show. I know that I want everyone to hear this message, and perhaps focus a little differently on life; life that acknowledges that death is a part of it. I want everyone to see dying in a way that maybe, perhaps, it isn’t such a theft, such a wrong, such a damaging, life-rending event. I want everyone I know and love to be able to see and feel and hear and understand how death can be more than just DEATH.
I’m writing this more as a spiritual dump – I need to get the stress and anxiety and fear of it off of my chest. But I’m also writing it as a heartfelt invitation – come spend some time in a room and allow yourself to be opened; come and listen to some music and some words that might broaden the horizon of your soul; come and think deeply about subjects that you haven’t focused on yet. This isn’t a sales pitch. It’s a plea to depth of your spirit. Come and listen. It might make all the difference.
Truly. I hope to see you there.
Link to the event: https://www.facebook.com/events/464009724143525/?ti=icl
