Anniversary of Jeff Buckley's Death
Eight years ago, a magical man died in the Mississipi River. His death is a tragic romantic death and his music is just that. In death, as in life, he reflects the musical romantic nature of life. And for that gift, of taking the pain of love, the tattering feeling of lost while trying to growing up, and the happiness of the lone night and giving each a song-shape, I am completely in love with his music.
Grace--his album, I discovered this by complete accident, one summer long ago. I was a junior in high school and faraway from home. That summer, I was in a summer program but like all the events in my life, I went at it by myself. The clothes went in the bag and I on the train for the seven hour journey. I remember arriving there, sharing a cab with a stranger that I did not trust at all.
Liz and Noah brought Jeff into my life. Liz sat in the lecture hall with head headphones and before that moment, I could not understand the power of music. She gave me Grace to listen and each song, each word, each lyric brought a newness into my life.
That summer, people saw something in me that I did not even know I had inside of me. Theresa pretended she was lost so she could talk to ME. I lay outside in the grass with Noah, the first boy I ever cuddled with. Liz introduced me to the concept of the "Beautiful People" and told me that I was one of them. Me--one of them? That summer brought out an extraordinary sense of awareness in me.
Before that summer, I could only see the scars on my face, sense the fact that I did not belong, and an awful sense of being in possesion of nothing special. "Grace" changed that. At first, I didn't want to share it with anyone. "Hallelujah" and "Lilac Wine" belonged only to me and having them, I did feel beautiful just because they are beautiful.
Now, on the anniversary of his death, I can truly say that I miss him without ever having met him. When I hear "Hallelujah" I think back to that night, when I felt normal and in with those around me. It was the last night of the program and a couple of us took a walk and sat in this park in Pittsburgh. I can see the darkness, I can hear the sound of the traffic around us, and I remember how scratchy the black-eyes-susans felt when I picked one and tucked in behind my ears.
I grew into myself that Jeff Buckley summer.
Grace--his album, I discovered this by complete accident, one summer long ago. I was a junior in high school and faraway from home. That summer, I was in a summer program but like all the events in my life, I went at it by myself. The clothes went in the bag and I on the train for the seven hour journey. I remember arriving there, sharing a cab with a stranger that I did not trust at all.
Liz and Noah brought Jeff into my life. Liz sat in the lecture hall with head headphones and before that moment, I could not understand the power of music. She gave me Grace to listen and each song, each word, each lyric brought a newness into my life.
That summer, people saw something in me that I did not even know I had inside of me. Theresa pretended she was lost so she could talk to ME. I lay outside in the grass with Noah, the first boy I ever cuddled with. Liz introduced me to the concept of the "Beautiful People" and told me that I was one of them. Me--one of them? That summer brought out an extraordinary sense of awareness in me.
Before that summer, I could only see the scars on my face, sense the fact that I did not belong, and an awful sense of being in possesion of nothing special. "Grace" changed that. At first, I didn't want to share it with anyone. "Hallelujah" and "Lilac Wine" belonged only to me and having them, I did feel beautiful just because they are beautiful.
Now, on the anniversary of his death, I can truly say that I miss him without ever having met him. When I hear "Hallelujah" I think back to that night, when I felt normal and in with those around me. It was the last night of the program and a couple of us took a walk and sat in this park in Pittsburgh. I can see the darkness, I can hear the sound of the traffic around us, and I remember how scratchy the black-eyes-susans felt when I picked one and tucked in behind my ears.
I grew into myself that Jeff Buckley summer.