The Turbulent Twenties

The beginning of this blog should begin with a rebirth, if you will. On Monday I attended the service of a man named Robert Julius Brawley on a farm just outside of Lawrence, Kansas. He was an artist, a professor, a father, a husband, and a friend amongst other things. I shall say that these words will not do it nor him justice. I know this because I was present on Monday with people that knew him in different capacities and in different ways. I myself did not know him that well, but I did know his laughter and his stories that interspersed his teachings, which were often riddled with references to mind altering substances. The people that attended his service were immensely touched by his intense connection and how much he helped you to realize yourself.

Just behind the barn where the service took place was a field with trails mowed through creating rambling patterns. Sam, Chris, and myself set off with a bottle of beer, a cup of wine, and a digicam in tow as the sun set though the trees. Our conversation turned to the exploration of how no one can really know each other. One fundamental misstep is trying to relate to one another--this can never truly be realized. We often do this through language. Language is just a construction that results in a separation in our minds (this is me, that is you, that is a rock, over there a tree).... and before language existed, everything in the world was one. This struggle within ourselves and our relationships can bring about turmoil for a goal that is never accomplished. On the other hand, someone might argue that language is all we have to convey our thoughts and emotions to another.

But throughout all this philosophical headiness, we realized that a person we knew in different capacities was causing us to reflect. To reflect on our lives, our purpose, togetherness, and being alone, ...Brawley influenced many things in our lives and continued to do so after departing our only understanding of life itself. All the perspectives of Brawley and life itself on Monday when rolled into one do not make a whole. They do not compose a complete picture of a person. Because that person is him or herself in entirety in and of themselves without the perspectives or understandings of other individuals.

This is my fresh start. All beginnings start at an end. May Brawley live on in the rest of us.