To Felipe: my brother on this exciting journey with me into the field of God's unknown and glorious purpose. Always pack your sword and shield.
To all my friends: You have each blessed my life in such profound ways. You have become my family, and therefore there will always be a chair at my table for you.
In my last entry from Gotham, I reflect a bit on my descent into it and my ascension out.
Return Me to Innocence
At the edge of The Country,
In the heart of a State,
Outside of The City,
In the south of The Borough,
At the tip of a street, stands a house.
And past its gate,
Up the stairs,
Through three doorways,
And a turn right into the bedroom,
There is a wooden cabinet in whose second drawer, lies a photograph, turned on its face, white side up.
It lies untouched, peaceful in midst of the frantic packing of moving boxes, a reminder of what once existed.
Years have passed since a friend took that photo. I well remember choosing the black fitted button-down, cleaning up and cutting my hair just-so for the head shot. I recall heeding the oracle of the sandwich maker next door, as he had apparently instructed many an aspiring model and even actors as myself: "Remember, if you ain't in SOHO, you ain't...".
Everyone and anyone had a say in my life but God.
"New York City?", others asked, "So many people everywhere"
One kind older soul's idea was to arrange opportunities for me elsewhere: "I just don't like the idea of a kind young man like you going there."
The rampant arrogance of our time says to label these people "dream killers" and "haters", but I now call them "right".
If a "nice young man" was what had left the South, then he choked on the bitter cold northern air which awaited him off the plane. Time of death called at December 26, 2008 around 12:00 PM.
But you would not find him at the mortuary or funeral parlor, for he was of a different variety: the living dead, a being with an internal cessation of life yet to the world of the external, seemed very much likable and vibrant.
