Jesse & Yeshua

10/24/18

 

Terry

 

Hey, Terry.

 

Lemme do an aside by your side real quick.

 

Hey! To all of you who didn’t know the man of the hour,

Imma bout to drop some words that are symbolic,

Like the caged-free birds that this man set free every time he sat down with us nerds to discuss the latest and greatest we had discovered.

See, the amazing part was that this man, despite already knowing the subject at hand, would subject his time and eloquent mannerisms to attune to listening to what he knew too.

True, he has wild and eccentric, but like the law of concentricity did his every action bring others closer together, miraculously without reactions reacting into disputes, but instead responses that resulted into new shoes:

Fresh souls for those who needed to learn how to walk right again.

He was good.

And no trend of the hipsters would ever bend him away from wearing the same red plaid shirt with hiking boots, staking his claim on every mount that he preached on like a convex caveman---letting everything in his heart of hearts bare as his home hearthed so many under the wise banter he so quickly brought others to canter alongside him with.

He was crazy.

Yeah, his name was Dr. Terrence O’Crazy,

Which in case you didn’t know, was ‘short’ for Casey.

 

Okay, with my aside, aside, O’Casey Imma talk to you now.

These people can perpetrate the persistent echoes of the truth that I acquired and aspired to appropriately appropriate a-proportionally in my acute life.

You see, the sine that I knew your tangents were actually quite transcendent took place when I saw you cry for the first time.

 

You said, in humility, that when it was written in Genesis 1:1 that ‘...God said,’

It was actually more accurate to adjust this verb to ‘...God sang’.

You cried, but passionately persisted with “God sang you not because you were useful. God sang you because you were beautiful. If any of you question your worth, just know that you are a symphony that God thought that the world needed to hear.”

 

And so here, at your deathbed, I sing the now silent symphony of the greatest saint I ever had the honor and privilege to know.

Like soliloquies or songs of old, this poem may not be orderly or pretty or make much sense to most anyone else.

It’s not for them.

It’s like you said: our job is not to understand everything, but instead learn the art and discipline of being a kid again---trusting without complete comprehension.

Kids just have a keen understanding that their Dad knows more than they do, and that he cares for me and you.

Terry, you taught me so much.

You taught me that today is day 41--the day after the forty days of waiting and laying about, faking and breaking the character constantly of the ‘good christian.’

You taught me that today is the day that we can make the move, maneuvering from what ‘once was’ into ‘what is.’

Terry,

You taught me how to feel again, and that this ‘pen-hidden artery’ was not a shameful symptom of an over-empathic attitude. No. You said that my sorrow taught others how to feel again.

You repurposed me.

Again, you purposefully re-purposed me by purchasing my trust through the currency of time spent intentionally alongside me.

 

Terry,

You were my friend.

My words are failing me, and so I shall succumb to the ineffable reality that there is now an absence present in this heart and the halls through which we both roamed recklessly.

I know that you are gone now, and unlike your many other adventures,

This is one journey on which I cannot follow.

But I trust in our God.

I will see you again.

Thank you.