The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #68124   Message #1256698
Posted By: Jeri
25-Aug-04 - 05:10 PM
Thread Name: An Open Letter to Rick Fielding
Subject: RE: An Open Letter to Rick Fielding
I have figurative conversations with him all the time, but I have a hard time holding these in front of folks.

From a Bill Gallaher song (From memory, probably with mistakes):
Each seed is a flower, each flower's a seed
Each heart's a composer of songs
And the world and the sun in the universe turn
And the cycles of life carry on
    The wind moves the sea, the waves touch the shore
    You are what you dream, that's what you are
    On a voyage in time of your heart and your mind
    On an ocean of stars
    Yet when all's said and done, keep this in mind
    As you journey through life, travellin' half blind
    If for knowledge you thirst, then know you're the first
    And the last of your kind.
Rick sure planted some seeds, didn't he? Mick's nurturing a little seed of criticism that tells him that the risks we take, the leaps of faith, are what can make us remarkable. I've got a few seeds, and the 'plants' can grow into something beautiful if I just remember to water them and dump some fertilizer in once and a while. I just have to remind myself to get off my ass and help them grow sometimes. Luckily, some folks who knew him and me, have the 'it's OK to push people' seeds.

Many of Rick's friends had that particular seed. Rick might have helped encourage its growth, maybe not, but they're alike in believing people can be better and do better. That's what Rick got started in me. I believe I can be better than I'd thought, and I can easily see the seeds of things beautiful and unique in other folks too. I can tell them and encourage them. We help with each other's little plots of ground, and all of our seeds have a better chance.

Now, I don't believe Rick was (meta)physically present at these gatherings. It's just not me. There were an awful lot of his unfinished dreams still being dreamt, hopes being hoped, paths being followed and the occasional gentle kick in the shorts being administered. I miss him, but it's also in my nature to try to look for something, no matter how tiny or hard to find, that I'll see as more important than grieving.

I was trying to write, and I was blocked. I just wrote a bunch of prose, got some of it to rhyme, and if you'll excuse me pretending to imagine what Rick might think:
There are circles of friends,
Held loosely by lines I drew,
But in the winds of time they fade.
Here is where my passion ends,
I did all I could do,
But these circles of friends
Are the greatest thing I made

See me in their eyes.