There is not a traditional newsletter this week. Instead, This issue is a
tribute to Justin Daufenbach, who passed away in his sleep Sunday morning. He
was just 24 years old, but impacted a lot of lives.
I brought him to Indianapolis in April to be an apprentice. Instead, I learned
from him. His deep thinking made normal social interaction seem trivial. I had
great plans for this man, but obviously the plans for his life were different.
He came to me to complete his book, which was done, and for two other specific
purposes, which need not be mentioned. He felt like a son to me.
He was an angel among us. I have been blessed beyond measure to be within his
influence. He chose to go when I was in Atlanta for an important workshop. My
last conversation with him was when he called last Thursday afternoon to tell me
that a 60 foot elm tree uprooted by a storm had fallen on the house. I came home
to quite a different home than I left.
From Justin's Writings:
Dream to explanation
What? Oh....
The sky lit surroundings have grown an ominous white blue, brushing against the
dark needles that ravish the stars above me. Swaying with each breath of the
wind the statues of darkness rustle into the night’s song as though they were
singing this prayer just for me. Goose bumps. "The pale light beckons." A
quickly passing thought as my head starts to lift to the lifeline of pale beams
piercing my body to lay behind me on the moist leaves that stand watch to my own
spectacle of night.
It's so beautiful....
My neck retracts bringing my head down in wonder as pain rushes into my
bloodstream piercing each vein until it reaches my heart, penetrating and
releasing, my jaw pulls to my chest opening my mouth. I catch a blinding glisten
from my lip, my jaw pulls left to squint one eye and close the other. My heart
doubles, my chest reaches out for the heavens in despair. A sudden drop to my
knees, my hands fly to the watchers as the breath of the wind seems to pick them
out of the path of my terrible palms and set them aside with caution in weary
despair. Vomit. I once again lift my head, this time not so high, out of
respect... but what of? My head jerks right, something pushes the skin up from
my arm in a passionate rage of destruction. A small dome of flesh rises before
my eyes as it follows my vein slowly and dissipates to reveal two more. My ribs
crack in an explosive forward thrust, then combining once more as my head snaps
left to right in a failed attempt to shake out the pain leaving it cocked to the
side, pulled down to brush my shoulder. My teeth clench as they vibrate and
cringe. My right arm rushes forward to push myself up from the moist watchers as
my left foot climbs forward to thrust me upright, achieving half the stance
attempted.
God the pain.
Dissipates. A rush of feeling attacks my pores. "It's not over," my thoughts
lose the struggle, broken they release to the pain. A weakened drop to my knees,
stunned in awe I lower my head and hover while my mouth drips to the watchers
that lay below blinding me with the slight reflection they now hold, as if to
ward off my sorrow back to me. The despair has allowed itself now the entirety
of my body, ripping and tearing in every section of now blood soaked skin, yet I
see no cuts...why?
Mother.
What?
The skin grows dark in its complexion as new spears pierce me once more to
release themselves from under the massive growth that was once human. The pain
subsides as I look down upon the once forgotten state of mind that is the
follower and the giver. I look once more at my birth glaring down at me from
between the trees and screech a vibration I have not heard and couldn't have
imagined in the entirety of my life. The wind breathes to me once more and pulls
the feeling of beauty across my face as my emotions combine and combust in a
love felt surge of energy.
Run.
My head lifts as my muscles burst, the breath increases its rapid descent across
my body as the watchers crush below me screaming in their light broken pain. The
statues beside me once swaying to the prayer now bow towards me in humble grace,
guiding me along my pale lit path. Beams come and go as they pass through the
needles and I pass through them, rushing to my beckoning.
Darkness surrounds me, a slight gnawing emotion of worry as I notice the lack of
pale emotion that just recently crossed my blood and became my fuel. I press
forward in a slow shuffling stupor as my hands sway slowly swinging to their
interchanged course. Light comes to my sight, not as pure or delightful as the
previous surrounding, but nonetheless it is apparent I have reached my destined
arrival. The cold feeling of metal brushes my feet with every step towards the
light so benevolently laying itself upon the pitch black surfaces that stand to
each side of me. My sight straight forward as my right hand reaches out and
scrapes the wall beside me lightly, giving a slight screech, and then returns to
its original course beside me. Before me, a figure is coming into focus standing
upright and calm against the black background behind her, seemingly soloed out
by the waves of light that are coming down upon us both.
Mother.
"What have you learned in your time with the humans?" Her thick graceful voice
questioned as it rings throughout my ears and the halls that I once tested.
A few steps closer.
"Humans are an accumulation of outside forces enacting upon a molded
individualistic core." I returned without a moments thought in a vibration that
I have longed to have felt since I have had my human form. Stepping slowly
closer to reveal her hair ridden large body that gave off the same appearance as
mine, I knew to stop and await further questioning.
Silence.
"Do they need to be destroyed?"
A flutter of emotions compile inside me in wonder, the life I lived vibrated
through my head. Disgust for those that deserve disgust, love for those that
need not be punished.... What is the answer?
"Not all humans are so simple, they should not be destroyed, but reborn."
"Very well son."
A tidal wave of shock runs across my body, "I'm dripping in sweat" leaks from my
lips as I remove the blanket and shiver in the cold breeze from the fan above. A
trickle of blood, now dried, crumbles to my touch under my nose, but no matter
to any of that, this must be written down before I fall asleep again.
---------------------------------------------------------
Return to the Archives Index