Death By Proxy
In some primitive religions as with some modern intoxications as well, there
is belief, that if one's life is saved by another, a debt is owed which must be
paid. And if someone plucks another from a premature demise, putting his
own life in great jeopardy during such noble action, he who was saved, in
the future must duplicate the act, or thereafter be slave to his benefactor,
owned body and soul. To further illustrate what I am forced to get at by
circuitous measure: Some believe, though psychologists would call it a twist
on "The Death Wish", that when a person is there to comfort a suffering
soul, especially where great love has been shared, the bereaved no longer
belongs to just one world. Death by Proxy:
She was what authors of love write about, realizing no other expression will
do. She was an image likened to light, too luminous to justly define--subtle
gradations, suspending the enchanted beholder on a high of breathless
change. A haunting melody, eluding all analysis of tempo and time. More,
she was a poem I wished I had the skill to write; for on the subjects of
passion and devotion, by her ways it was all said. And I loved her more than
life. Cliché, but true. Life! Taken from her so unfairly. So young! Such
injustice to compare her to the dim brilliance most of us call living...no other
before in parallel with Divine essence as I saw her. Sadly, I am struck dumb
by my own inadequacy to recall, to define, even make a futile attempt at
what is within my grasp, a veiled description, but none-the-less magnificent
folly. Yes, why speak of her in the same type breath as commonly used to
draw in and force out life, what most define as living, such dim travesty to
Art. The Art of living! The Art of loving! The joy of giving, and by thus
doing being totally filled…or, as in the instance which now I speak, myself
left entirely empty and eternally longing.
Before her my passions had always been solely art, the desire to contrive, to
frame, to create my own reality through the dimensions of mind and
emotion. Giving all fantasies free-flow, to miraculously appear, I swear at
times by divine intervention and guidance, upon a piece of primed, linen
canvas. In fact, as I look back, I sometimes doubt that Lisa was ever
anything less than deep, star-like compression of dream burst to radiance…
for I had never met a more challenging creature. That's right, 'Challenging!' I
say this with fire: Challenging! A beautiful beast who had little control!
Whose enemies had better take heed, and whose lover, I, whom she swore
she had attached herself to for all eternity, was in constant danger of being
devoured by insatiable appetite. Myself her only sustenance! But what man
could ask for more? And having been feast at such delightful cuisine, what
man could settle for diet of less? So one can easily sympathize with me that
upon her death also went out the light in my eyes.
For several hours afterwards I gazed listless at her limp body upon the bed.
I tried to convince myself that she was just sleeping…and soon would open
her eyes…motion for me to come into her arms; I would melt, and she
would melt, again to be as one.
Sadly she was now the cold victim of a strange virus the physicians were at
lose to describe let alone treat.
So to distract myself, I began to recall the pleasant past, in particular, those
long evening walks together: As newborns, we often explored, pink hand in
pink hand, the flowered meadow seen from our bedroom window. I thought
of the playful glint of her eyes; savored once more the scent of her blossom
hair and caresses as our bodies entwined upon the new, spring grass. Then,
as pain of loss softened with memory I found myself at the easel, and
without the slightest thought to what I was doing, guided by something so
natural thus not to question my own entranced behavior, I began painting.
Her flesh had already turned that horrid marble gray morticians are all too
familiar with, yet I mixed health into my pallet. And though her body upon
the bed had stiffened, resembling a bloodless doll, I assembled her casual,
seated on a chair before the window. Butter-sun dripped warmly over her
hair and bare-shoulders; the same glow I wished inside of her, all too real
and compelling, as was the entrapment of her smile, one of her many
singular expressions I had come to cherish, certain I could now not live
without.
Already having made up mind to never again take of sustenance, for life
without Lisa meant nothing, I laid her lovingly on the bed…and then my
listless self beside her, hugged her cold flesh, morbidly aware of the stench
of death making foul every one of my labored breaths. I had painted for what
I thought to be days, though the sun had set and risen but once, with
concentration so extreme, that upon completion of my hopeless task,
exhausted, I sank quickly into a coma of sleep.
How long I slept I do not know?
Some say dreams are only seconds of measurable time, which can hold
eternities of nightmare.
And I had no idea of the time I actually fell asleep, for oddly, I recollect, at
the exact instant of her last expire the antique clock on the bureau, one with
an extremely loud mechanism, had also stopped. I also recall Pain's pitiless
press on my heart. Then I was gone.
I dreamt…a strange mixture of wonderment and terror:
I was above my body. Somewhere between there and then, where love is
forever found or forever lost.
I saw myself in bed still beside Lisa, yet I quickly rose…my soul a-helium
of sorrow; my arms straining to reach--as infants do, my hands clutching to
grab and draw.
She was gone--fearing I had truly risen while she fallen to some irretrievable
depth?
Soon I was apart of the great heavens.
Of each angel-like being that I encountered I asked the same, forlorn
question: "Have you seen my Lisa."
"Sorry--we don't know your Lisa."
I began to describe her in detail, certain they were mistaken or perhaps lying,
to torment me or spare me some horrid truth.
But each new being accosted replied, as did his predecessor, in the chilling
negative.
I was struck numb by the dead pan of their countenances. A lack of
sympathy I would not have imagined even in the most devout ghoul.
Expelled yet higher by strange and morbid magic: I flew passed opalescence
spheres, once bright bubbles of hopeful future bursting about me, splatters
for the dark-flick theaters of long ago but not forgotten time.
I am at a loss to describe more clearly the sickening hues, pus and blood
running down the lens of my fluid imagination when at last I came upon a
beautiful creature but short distance ahead of me. The pulse of the great
spheres hammering in my ears!
As I came closer I realized at last, it was she, Lisa, whom I sought now with
mortal imperative.
I called to her…she laughed…sounding more the taunt or howl of a demon.
I raced toward her only to have her flee; draw me further, in frightening
pursuit; pressing hard into piercing arrows of contrary light.
Convulsive heat filled my lungs and heart, lungs that recalled too clearly
lilac scent and carefree, skipping song.
Hellish infernal all about me! At last I felt myself falling…perhaps finally
giving in; once loved earth, now despised for its lack of poetic pity, raced up
at me, shouting me deeper into sucking madness.
When I awoke, I was still lying on the bed…but Lisa was gone from my
side. Had it all been a dream…perhaps even her death? Or had they come
and removed her as I slept, deciding to leave a tortured soul alone, having
willfully driven himself to a tomb of unfathomable delirium?
Now arose a startling tick in my head. Was it just there, in my mind? No, the
antique clock on the wall had once again begun its dutiful vigil.
And as my eyes cleared of the veiled prism of sleep, my scan proceeded
along a path of light illumining drips of paint still moist and glistening upon
the floor, leading onward toward the window and a Ghost-like silhouette
seated in the chair by the easel.
It was she, Lisa, a drench of morning glow.
She appeared as in still wet oil alongside of her, as I had painted her,
vibrant! Spilling over with health and life!
"Have I been ill?" she said. "I feel strange, as though I have been terribly far
from you my love!"
"Terribly far…terribly far…." Yet in utter disbelief I slowly approached her
as a prisoner just reprieved of life-sentence. "But later I will explain…for
now I must simply hold you."
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