WILL
 
much joy much laughter much kindness much .... Will was everything but what he appeared to be Will was full of life and yet, he died so young... Always wise beyond his years....we were lucky Knowing Will was a gift ..... Now he is leading the battles where he is seen like Kurt Cobain.....these guys don’t die from substances....they lack containment.......needing one wise old man.....needing one wise old man......needing one wise old man......Neil Young knows....the closest I can get to the paradigm of meaning of Will’s life and death is Young’s song Powderfinger.......so much left undone......so much left undone.....missing laughter, missing the brilliance, missing the timing of the foiling of the trickster.....missing....... looking back, though, paradoxically, somehow , the tragedy is ours and not Will’s.....Will was fine.....in his skin......we were the lesser...... our tragedy.....our tragedy.....our tragedy..... a tale of desertion a tale of mis-steps, over and over again my friend Will was constantly making meaning out of life shamaning reflecting joining the pieces for the rest of the pedestrians who walk but don’t see spontaneously, I uttered, on seeing Will in his coffin “ I bore an Irish King, out of time.” That is the story....... Will was beyond thoughtful, always working for the good of others..... Will needed protection......... not from himself, as many thought protection from the outside assaults.......protectionn from the vagaries of the not-as-it-should-be his worn-out mother ..... his worn-out friends..... his worn-out aunts, uncles and cousins, all just worn-out..... battle-scarred..... Will cut.....the blood flowed We were the scarred already.....the dead...... he was the dying........ only the dead would pass by on the other side.... protecting their ghosts... from God-knows-what... Will isn’t the only young man we have lost... there are others...... just can’t do the embodying anymore.. containers too weak around... Will’s Way embodies the reality of his essence The getting-out-and-about The joy of simply breathing Will was a breather of life Closer to the edge of all-seeing Than we like to think This is a tale of community failure This is a tale of judgment This is a tale of no place to go Those we pathologize are the strong ones Able to carry the projections of stupid smallness We kill them Will did not kill himself He looked for real shelter Finding none He slowly made his way out when will we ever learn when will we ever learn just a community around to ground the greatness.....