Raptor Inside

Ben Harper

"Amen Omen"

C O M I N G  OF  A G E
2011 - Part II:

Back in July, Blair died on the same night I moved to Brooklyn. In less than 24 hours, I felt my gut feeling that something was wrong literally wretch itself out onto the sidewalk. My worst fear came true. I have never experienced anything more painful or permanent. I don’t know what I would have done without the love and support of the friends and family who surrounded me during that first week.

I’ve spent much of the last 6 months at war with reality. Rationally I know that time travel isn’t possible, but there’s a part of me that is deeply convinced I just haven’t figured out how to do it yet. I am just a protagonist awaiting his inciting incident and rise to inevitable failure. This cycle repeats itself often. One of my initial ways of coping was by reading some of Blair’s favorite books, and listening to his favorite musicians. That was how I found myself listening to Ben Harper.

Based on it’s ratings, I chose Diamonds on the Inside to listen to first. I remember distinctly hearing “Amen Omen” for the first time while taking the train to work. I then played it repeatedly throughout the day. I had heard so many songs about death, but none resonated with my experience the way this one did. The shock, the isolation, the uncertainty, and feeling utterly powerless in it’s wake. It’s all there.

What started as a whisper
Slowly turned into a scream
Searching for an answer
Where the question is unseen

I know I’ve written a lot about Blair on this blog. The truth is, I’ve used a lot of discretion when actually talking about death. Remembering the life and times we shared is a much different story. That part is a pleasant experience - memories are all I have left. Death, separation, and loss are very different monsters.

I listen to a whisper
slowly drift away
Silence is the loudest
parting word you never say
I put your world
into my veins
and now a voiceless sympathy
is all that remains

Within the same year, Blair was the source of the best and worst things that have ever happened to me. Finding a connection more powerful than any I’ve ever experienced, then having it all ripped away before I even realized it could be taken. I had never before been confronted with such a powerful crisis of belief and identity.

How can I find the strength within
to live my life without you?

In many ways, that strength found me. It is the kind of strength cannot come only from within. It relies on love and friendship. It needs to be tended to and nurtured daily. It demands long hugs and admissions of weakness. This is my giant; I just have to remember that I am stronger than I think.