Love is Stronger than Death

A few years ago I set out on an adventure to the middle of the jungle Peru. No electricity, no hot water, no comforts of home (except my pillow). The jungle is the pitchest of black when there’s no electricity, add to this, tripping your nads off from drinking the sacred concoction of ancient Shaman…life and the meaning of it gets interesting, real quick.

I was drawn to the particular area because of an article I had read in a National Geographic magazine and the specific (and mostly horrifying) details of the Ayahuasca ceremonies that were described in the article only fueled, much more intensely, my need to go. I was certain that I had to go. And more importantly, I knew I had to go by myself. No friends, no family. I wanted the whole experience and all five ceremonies that I was going to partake in to be completely me and my shit, with no distractions. I’ve detailed the experience of the ceremonies in past entries, so if you’re interested you can read about it there. Tonight’s carrying on comes from viewing that experience three years later.

I had come down to South America to do some serious work, spiritually, emotionally, mentally – turns out, even physically. I was seeking solace, forgiveness, relief from the torment of depression and unspeakable guilt that had a relentless stranglehold on me for the previous 8 years. The agony and grief revolved around my father’s suicide. The regret I was experiencing came from my failure to return his call before he did it.

(I’ve never written about my father’s death until right this very moment. I’ve spoken about it to friends and family sure, but to ever consider posting it publicly, simply was not an option. I’m not even so sure about posting it right now as my heart races while I type these words. But since I no longer feel the need to hide something, whatever that something was, it just seems it’s time to write. Not too many details for now, baby steps.)

As far as I could see, I was serving a life sentence for my crime, and my punishment was…being alive. I found myself incessantly wishing to find a way to leave this god forsaken existence. But how can you do that to your family when your father took his own life?

Since I was still alive and even slightly dumbfounded that I was actually in the middle of a jungle holding onto the tiniest fragment of hope, with the help of a translator I asked one of the shaman what exactly I needed to do to find the reprieve I was so desperately searching for in my life.

The shaman spoke in his native Quechua, and the interpreter translated sparingly. “Always love”.

I took this to mean quite plainly, always love (as a verb). That seemed pretty straightforward…difficult as it may seem, don’t stop loving just because you feel broken or unworthy. Our limited conversation continued for a few more minutes and I deduced enough to comprehend that you’re not only punishing yourself but punishing everyone around you when you halt your life at a crossroads or obstacle. And what does that accomplish? Successfully robbing people of the gift of your love. And what else is there really? Everything else is fleeting. Money, fame, beauty – while coveted by some, doesn’t really mean much in the grander scheme. Plus, the simple fact remains, not everyone has access to it in their lifetime. Unquestionably though, every person on the planet can love – without money, without fame and without beauty. This power is generously bestowed upon each and every one of us, without question, without limit, without prejudice, without expiration. Without exception.

By the sixth day and the third ceremony I began to feel the inspiration for my next tattoo, I had quietly pondered the short phrase that had now fixed itself in my head. Now, it’s no secret that I’m so not cool enough to pull off the full sleeve, dripping with colors and dragons and busty babes kind of tattoos, so when I decide to get stamped, I need to be sure of what indeed I really want to “say”.

Since this trip proved to be such a significant point in my life, it seemed apparent to me that I would seek out the proper spelling of those two words in Quechua and have myself inked sometime when I got back to the U.S. For some reason, this didn’t happen. As more time went on, I actually lost the translation, went about trying to figure it out again, doing research and discovering how many different dialects exist in the Quechua language, thus becoming increasingly worried that I was going to inadvertently end up with something like Hairy Llama scrawled on my body for the rest of my life.

It wasn’t until recently that I found myself again contemplating those two words. I suddenly distinguished the phrase in a whole new way (thanks to another experience which I will write about in a separate entry). Love: described as a noun, could be acknowledged in a zillion different ways. I flipped the words around on my tongue, backward and forward, playing with the different undercurrents of this simple, simple statement. One could always recognize love, one could always practice love, one could always be love, one could always see, share, live, cultivate, participate, send, embrace, embody, declare, receive, reward, dedicate, offer...love. The list is endless.

No matter what the question or uncertainty, “always love” seems like it is the unmistakable, viable answer.

This also means that despite my history and my story with my father, I could continue from this point forward to create love around it by doing just that. Loving in every way possible. All ways.

You don’t stop loving because of an obstacle in your path. If you give up on love, what chance do you stand then? Hell and a snowball come to mind. What you do is love even more...and more intensely than before. Don’t let anyone go even one day without the benefit of your love. What better way to help deal with your past than to change your future about it.

And what better way to remind yourself than inscribing it on your bicep:

P.S. Blog title comes from a The The song by the same name. (always loving lyrics, I am)

Love love love
Love love love

Me & my friend were walking
In the cold light of mourning.
Tears may blind the eyes but the soul is not deceived
In this world even winter aint what it seems.

Here come the blue skies here comes springtime.
When the rivers run high & the tears run dry.
When everything that dies.
Shall rise.

Love love love is stronger than death.
Love love love is stronger than death.

In our lives we hunger for those we cannot touch.
All the thoughts unuttered & all the feelings unexpressed
Play upon our hearts like the mist upon our breath.
But, awoken by grief, our spirits speak
How could you believe that the life within the seed
That grew arms that reached
And a heart that beats.
And lips that smiled
And eyes that cried.
Could ever die?

Here come the blue skies here comes springtime.
When the rivers run high & the tears run dry.
When everything that dies.
Shall rise.