Otherness can also be a tool

for cultivating spiritual intelligence

 

It was suffocating; I felt like I was about to explode; it was, without a doubt, an expansion of my being. And yet it was frightening…, just a little. How could someone’s work provoke something so intense in me!*

 

The connection with him is undeniable close; deep… But he’s dead! Am I really connected to someone who no longer exists? Through his work, yes. But the bond goes beyond his legacy… It’s with him.

 

I identify with Scott perhaps too much: his vulnerability, his gauntness, his innocence, his sensuality, his beauty.

 

I am not physically attractive, nor thin, nor sensual. So then… in what way am I like him?... His spirit; I share his spirit.

 

I never knew him in the ordinary sense: we never shared the same space, the same experiences, he never spoke to me with the voice of his living presence, with the gestures and movements of his mortal body… No, our communication was always artistic and emotional through philosophical and spiritual ideas, through the echoes of his unconscious, his fears, and his longings. Through him I listened, through him I saw. And through his rockstar eyes I witnessed both heaven and hell just as vulnerable to them as any sinner… or any angel.

 

Vulnerable… Yes, that is where we meet, that is where we merge, when I enter his body and he enters mine… and suddenly I feel like I cannot breathe… Again… Frightening…, just a little.

 

Scott, our favorite album—more than the ones with Stone or Velvet—has always been 12 Bar Blues. We listened to it endlessly. It was addictive! We almost died of bliss.

 

Scott, you are inside me. That much is true.

 

I speak to you from within: I know you well, I understand you deeply. I’m sorry… truly sorry.  And thank you for accepting me; because a connection this overwhelming could only exist if you know me too; if we share the same spirit.

 

Rest now. We’ll meet again tomorrow, dear Scott.

 

 

*Of course! I’m not imagining this; I saw how it created a silence almost a chasm when his bandmates listened again to the recording of Atlanta in the documentary filmed after his death. I’m not wrong!