JoeGoldfarb.com

Relocating back to the land of my birth is a deeply moving proposition. Is this act a step backwards akin to falling down ? Or is this path forward merely a circle which my soul walks? As I consider my parents thoughts that going back to Buffalo as a sign of weakness or failure, I am reminded of a quote Kelly told me fifteen years ago that goes something like this: “we all go back to our family eventually.”

At the time that line sounded preposterous to me. I couldn’t fathom moving back into my families home or neighborhood.  All I could think about is moving away, exploring new lands and people. Walking the same sidewalk and streets used as a child most certainly was not growth as I understood it. Where would I learn tales of foreign lands and strange people? Certainly not by crafting them in the backyard of my upbringing.

Moving back I will face my past. I will see the face of the mother who bore me many moons ago, now aged and wrinkled. I have seen her once in five or six years. Before that only a handful of times since I moved out. I will see my older sister, too. Her teenage daughter I am sure will have no interest in me, typical of the age. This older sister has a son aged two whom I have yet to meet. My youngest sister has moved to Buffalo to obtain a graduate degree at University at Buffalo. Although her and I were never close due to an eight year age difference, she is an awesome girl whom I have barely interacted with after she turned ten. So I am looking forward to hanging out with her at least once to see how it goes. I am not expecting much in the way of hugging and excitement, but if that happens that will be great.

I have one other sister close to my age who lives in Rochester. Our relationship has proven to be rather complicated. Perhaps another day I will speak of her.

Then there will be my last remaining grandparent - Adel - living in Flushing, Queens near Brooklyn. After her husband Leo dies in a September or August she is living alone as the last standing member of her generation in our family. Although her son and daughter live nearby and visit often, possibly daily, I wouldn’t expect her to live for many more years statistically speaking. Once a life partner dies the other will soon follow. Once she is gone a huge amount of historical information will be lost. Therefore, I wish to record as much of her voice as possible. When my children want to know what she was like I can let them hear themselves.

*

Many years ago, perhaps seven or eight years ago I was at my mothers fathers house in West Seneca, NY along with several out of state family members. A cousin excused himself from a conversation we were having to go talk to our grandfather who was sitting in another room watching TV alone if I recall. I asked my cousin why he needs to leave me to talk with John. He replied that our grandfather won’t be around much longer and he wants to hear his stories before they are gone for good. That shocked me because at the time my grandfathers stories were largely irrelevant to me and of no importance. Sitting down with him explicitly to hear his stories was not something I had ever considered. Now older, there are some days I wish I can redo. Oh, how growing up changes perspective.

I must get to my grandmother in New York City. Once she is gone I can’t get her back again.

*

I am not really sure if i want to get reacquainted in person with anyone I previously knew anyways. I mean, we are all different now. We are not the same people. We have all changed. What was once a friendship may now be nothing more than a shallow reminder of days past. I am really nervous about doing this, about moving back to Buffalo. With some of these people, errr friends… I don’t know what to expect if I run into them. Should I face these people I once knew and accept a new reality? Or should I say no to those whom wish to meet so that I may preserve what was once childhood bliss? There will be plenty of new people to meet, anyways. Why revisit old fields, homes and shops when life is about moving forward, growing and learning? Perhaps, if it happens, coming face to face with a past world will reinforce my visions of my future. Or perhaps these faces will teach me more about myself than I ever knew possible. It is my past that my future grows from after all.

Yesterday Tara bought the gold Twin Peaks box set that contains all the 29 episodes from season 1 and 2. We watched the 2 hour pilot last night. The imagery, concepts left me thinking dark thoughts for the remainder of the evening and continuing into my dreams that night. It was not a positive experience.

Many years ago (about 13 yrs) when I habitually populated the trendy Elmwood Ave in Buffalo, NY day after day and night after night I settled into a cozy yet hip cafe called Cafe` Aroma were I would later become employed. Popping in nearly everyday to order a coffee drink, read the weekly Artvoice or some other book led me to become acquainted with the baristas employed there. One girl, Andrea, a Libra, ended up taking a fancy in me. She was very short, somewhere around five foot with long, straight platinum blond hair with one black streak near her bangs. She has a small mouth and eyes. On her left shoulder she has a detailed fairy tattoo. She loved to wear huge platform boots to increase her height. Most importantly, she made an awesome ice mocha latte with black current flavoring. She would even draw pictures with chocolate syrup on the whipped cream.

One night she asked me to come to her house to watch a movie. She told me something like it may break my mind but she think I can handle the movie content and idea’s presented in it. Intrigued, I met her at her apartment on her day off with my friend Charles I believe. She got us extremely high. Then she proceeded to make spaghetti and was bouncing around the kitchen in marijuana smoke. I remember Charles being exited about the food, however, I was not. Italian food is not something I care for, even stoned. I ate some anyways. We followed the pasta with some red wine.

Then came the movie. She pulled out her stolen VHS tape of Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me. It had a white price tag with $97 on it if not returned to Blockbuster. She didn’t care. She told us to sit down and enjoy the movie. She offered us a choice and I took the red pill. And so Charles and I sat about six feet from the large television crossed-legged for the entire two and a half hour film. I was completely engrossed by the film. I don’t think I even blinked once. Andrea was right. My neurons were rewrote and I have not been the same since watching that film in that very open-minded state. You see, with no reality boundaries in place, no form of mental protection, a new paradigm smacked me right in the head. Yes, that movie rewrote my understanding of reality. The color theory David Lynch used along with the relationships between colors, actions, locations, people and symbols redefined how I perceive the world around me. His artistic expression of metaphysical concepts such as angels and demons, spirits and other worlds that tied into an otherwise seemingly normal reality of small-town people, placements, and events set in a dramatic storyline of incest and drugs blew this delicate, fragile mind away. Again, I have not been the same.

Now over a decade later I sit back and expose myself to the same thing, the same wild ideas innocuously transposed over a dark TV soapy drama hurts me again. Because the series is about pain, trauma, and the downward spiral of drugs in high school students makes me wince. Because the show is about possession by evil, supernatural spirits from realms beyond that drive people to heinous, violent acts of desperation and loath brings back dark memories. Then with the directors adding the artistic elements such as flickering lights, red costumes, and sounds of zippers to represent tapping into outside information, emotional impulsiveness, and entering a dark parallel world of pain, debauchery and suffering is really too much for me now. I don’t want to go back there. I have already been there. I have already felt that and it doesn’t feel good in comparison to the good and happiness I have felt in my life since. I do not want that ugliness in my life. It feels awful.

See,while the symbolic ideas of reality portrayed in the film opened my eyes, the film does little to help avoid it or move away from it. It’s about the downward spiral and corruption of the psyche. It’s about the pain one causes when they act from a dark heart, from a dark place, from dark motives. It’s not about healing. It’s not about moving forward. It’s not about building strength of character. It’s about the unraveling of character. It’s not about personal growth, success and happiness. It’s about impulsiveness, disease and pain. It’s not about beauty and truth. It’s about ugliness and lies. It’s not about where I am and were I need to be. It’s about where I was and what I do not wish to be. So why expose myself to this pain and suffering? Why jump in the pig pen? Why cut my wrist? Why look into the depths of darkness? There is no need anymore. I do not need to be made aware anymore of the creatures that lie in the shadows. I need, because my heart still bleeds, to focus on the dezines of light. I am walking from that land of blight climbing ever higher with delight and self-empowerment, joy and well being in sight.

Lastly, all the characters in Twin Peaks are not immune to the corrupted spirits in the woods. All succumb.

Yes, the Twin Peaks pilot episode brought back bad, ill feelings and thoughts inside.

A large percentage of Americans believe in ghosts and spirits - a whopping 40% according to some polls - even though there is absolutely no scientific evidence to support their existence. Why do people believe in such a superstition? A personal encounter or experience with something that defies a rational or conventional explanation permits us to seek a non-rational explanation? Some people who have issues or problems dealing with a death of a close friend or partner can cause someone to imagine they still exist, a bit incorporeal, with them, or even visiting them from time to time to ease their emotional distress. From my experience, those who claim to have seen or communicated with a ghost or spirit insist they exist even though no scientific test can conclusively prove it so.

I’ve had many encounters with ghosts and spirits. I don’t for the life of me know exactly what they are, but something was there that was different from an ordinary experience allowing me to believe something supernatural was in my presence at that time. Today I will share a more unique encounter that touched me in a way which brings peace to my mind and a lesson to be remembered.

She died two days ago.

We gathered in my living room of my apartment on Ashland in Buffalo, NY. After lighting some candles to set the mood as the sun set over the houses across the street, the four of us sat together in chairs forming a circle. September, the older and more experience person in the group when it comes to beliefs and practices which reside outside conventional reality led our group. She held her hands out to her side, palms down, asking that we hold hands with each other. I held her hand in my left. My right held someone else’s. There think were two other people in that room and I can’t remember who they were. There are of course only a few possibilities, but as to exactly who I just don’t remember anymore.

What I do remember is the rest of the story. September was saying something, words out loud, a chant of sorts, a calling of her to come to us. I said her name, I called her too. We all did and we held each others hands tight. Then there was warmth, an incredible buzzing of heat emanating several feet away between September and I outside our circle. It glowed red and yellow but they were not colors seen with my eyes but rather with my mind. I saw a blank spot on that floor visually but felt her standing there which my mind painted with a vibrant, warm hue in that location. The vibration of the energy was unmistakably Elaine’s. It was beautiful. It was extraordinary. It was her in spirit standing right before us creating a feeling for us all the beauty and love which life is. I smiled in joy. Finally I can say goodbye, but at the same time I was blown away that this was actually happening. It was happening, in my apartment, Elaine is here in a warm, loving radiance.

On the mantle I had placed Elaine’s tube socks she let me wear when I spilled beer on my feet in her bedroom a few weeks before. Each of us gathered her personal belongings that were left with us after she unexpectedly passed away and rested them on the mantle above the fireplace near where we were sitting. All I had of hers were white tube socks. I gestured to the socks and told her she can have them back because they are not my style and I didn’t have the chance to give them to you when you were here. I remember thinking she laughed at that because an arm came up and moved across her chest, up to her neck or mouth then swung back down again. It was just a blob of energy that moved differently than the rest of the larger radiant red and yellow force, but it sure seemed like an arm to me.

I remember feeling a weakness, a feeling of waking up as the special, unique moment was coming to pass. It was as if we, as a group were unable to maintain the connection with her. Again, it was like a gradual feeling of being roused from a wonderful dream. I felt the urge to thank Elaine for our special moments together, for our bond we shared, and say my last goodbye before she leaves forever. That was a powerful yet peaceful moment for all of us sitting in that apartment on Ashland. For me it was not a feeling of loss, but of thanks which swelled from a feeling of deep gratitude from what we shared. Elaine emanated the same warm love to us all. So we all thanked her and said our goodbyes, fore we all sensed she was leaving. We all smiled and let her go together. She drifted to her left toward the mantle where her possessions where resting. During that movement she faded away.

And she was gone.

On a cold, blustering day we parked the car on the side of the road across the street from the cemetery. The clock tower showed several minutes past noon. My friend who drove us there laughed. She told me that Elaine hated the clock tower at UB and now here she is buried near one. Forever, time will shadow her grave. As we crossed the street we panned through the open gate into the land of manicured lawns and stone monuments. It snowed that morning. A several inch layer of white crystal covered all like a blanket over sleeping bodies. I knew too well that these bodies will be asleep for a long, long time.

Elaine’s funeral was that morning. None of her friends were invited. Her mother blamed us all for her only child’s death. Several weeks later I spoke with Elaine’s mother on the phone for hours as she wanted to know my involvement in her deceased daughters life. She also shared with me her story of losing contact and losing the life of the only thing which mattered to her. But I digress…

The main through-way just past the cemetery gate going left and right was well worn. Thousands of footprints melted the snow and the black asphalt revealed itself to the sun getting warmer and in turn, melting more snow. Which way to her grave? We had no information on her whereabouts. And this cemetery is huge. I didn’t expect such a large number of people to have visited here this morning, for I was hoping a single line of footprints in the fresh snow would lead us to Elaine’s final resting place. It was then I realized footprints will not be necessary, for I “felt” a strong feeling of sadness to my right along the asphalt road. And so I followed it. I “saw” in my mind’s eyes twenty to fifty adults dressed mostly in black walking with their heads down from that direction. Though they moved slowly and somberly, they were not physically tired but many held umbrellas which I thought was odd. Maybe they were present during the morning snowfall.

And so my friend and I followed that dreary river upstream, each footfall landing in wet snow that splattered on my shoes. Perhaps after fifty yards this intangible aura of sadness which led me here turned left. And so we looked left. A wide, rectangular swath of snow was removed. If I recall there may have been some mud or dirt in the area along with many foot indents left in the lawn. The grass was pretty much flattened. Clearly, a burial occurred here earlier today. At the end of this rectangular clearing was a lone stone marker perhaps two-feet wide which lay in the ground. We walked up to it. It said “Elaine.” Flowers were left around the stone. While I had no flowers, I did bring her tube socks. I pulled them out of my long left pocket of my trench coat, bound tightly in the traditional manor one wraps socks and placed them right below her stone marker. My friend said something, which I do not recall. With my hands in my trench coat pockets, we retraced our steps back through the lonely cemetery grounds on this cold and overcast day.

Aside: this friend of mine who drove us to the cemetery had a large, but brief impact on my life direction. When we met a couple months before Elaine’s death she told me she had to something important for me. She then provided me a copy of the Interview With A Heretic which drastically propelled me forward and outside conventional reality. Later on our first date, a mere block away from Elaine’s apartment we sipped on drinks inside a cozy coffeehouse as Elaine was lifted and removed from the home on a stretcher. Elaine was a mutual friend. It was during a casual discussion of her I remarked that I saw a fireman exit her house signaling someone was dead inside. Right then we both knew the reason for us being brought together was happing. She would later learn through networking and interrogation the burial cemetery location and drive us there. Our relationship ended shortly after.

Have you ever experience this?

Have you encountered or experienced anyone after they passed away? What was the experience like? Did you come away feeling loss or negative emotions or joy, love and gratitude like myself? How do you rationalize the experience, as in, how do you fit spirits and/or afterlife into your world view and reality? I for one am not sure what I experienced that evening on Ashland. It may have been a group hallucination. Why bring in supernatural elements when a completely rational and simple explanation works? Well, I may never know exactly what that in my room that evening on Ashland but what I do know is how I reacted to it. And it is that reaction which brought peace to my mind, love into my heart and this story to you. Her spirit taught me how to let go.. of her and her tube socks. Frankly, that is a hard lesson to learn. So what lessons have spirits taught you?

May you live with peace, gratitude, forgiveness. This is a song I associate with her.

About six years ago my father was in a near-fatal auto accident. We were told that night and again the following weekend would not survive, yet he lived. I visited him months afterwards when he awoke from his coma. In some ways I wish I hadn’t. It was far from a heart-warming sight. His atrophied, contorted, and shriveled body laid on his bed at home. He squirmed, withered and kicked while drooling and muttering strange, outlandish things. Sitting on his bed I looked over in sadness noticing the obviousness of his brain damage. It was painful to watch.

I was not alone on that bed. His father Leo sat with me. I watched his eyes and his face as he gazed over his disabled son on that bed many years ago. His face showed a deep sadness. We shared that moment together.

Now Leo lies in a fetal position with his knees nearly touching his chin in a hospital bed. When he is touched he screams out in pain then huddles and whimpers while moments pass. With his eyes closed letting the minutes turn to hours, and hours turn to weeks he takes in little nourishment and is slowely dying. His life expectancy is two to four weeks from the date of this post. He will be survived by his wife and three children.
And here I am in Las Vegas. I passed the opportunity to spend time with him ten months ago in Florida. Now I am unable to spend a quality moment with him. I did speak with him on the phone weeks ago before he fell and broke his neck. He was upbeat, chipper and was wishing the best for me. His brain was slow though. I switched topics quicker than he could keep up. But other than that the conversation was normal and typical New York City quick.

While I myself grow old I watch those around me age as well. As conditions change and people pass I begin to realize what is important to me, what has been dear all along. That which I ran from, which I avoided for half my life is my life, is what I must turn back to, face and run towards as fast as my heart beats. I must spend time and experience life with them before another season comes to pass in our great wheel of life. Here in this great, desolate desert my heart yearns for my families footfalls upon my parched skin, this barren land. I yearn for their touch, their voice to boom and echo off the mountains of my land. But it is silent here. This land, this heart has population zero.

Cosmo, our white Turkish Angora male cat got sick two days ago. We found out afterwards that he apparently ate moldy wet food and experienced feline food poisoning as a result of that action. There was a little bit of salmon and chicken left in a can that I had left out on the food tray for a few days. The dry climate here prevents mold and fungus from growing on anything unless it is wrapped in plastic. How mold grew on this wet cat food I have no idea. Normally, the wet food dries up and turns into a kitty version of meat jerky - dried up, hard and crunchy. This leftover food in the can did not. A little mold grew on it instead. Tell me, what cat eats bad, rotten food? I have never heard or experienced a cat who ate old food. Cat’s are here because they are extremely picky eaters, eating nothing but food that is fresh. If anything is slightly off with the food a cat will regurgitate it to avoid poisoning itself. Not Comso. He’s special.

This incident of food poisoning began around 1am. I noticed Cosmo breathing shallow and fast with his mouth open. Otherwise he seemed fine. I noted his behavior and carried on with my life.

A few hours later when it came time to brush his teeth he arrived and waited for the toothpaste but clearly was in a little discomfort. The source of the pain and/or discomfort was unknown. He just had a look on his face.

Come eight or ten hours later when I woke Comso was socially slow. Normally he is the first to greet me, however, this time he was third or fourth. I gave everyone some wet food and he barely ate. He just licked the wet cat food juice a little.

A few hours later he experience the first of several vomiting fits. The first time he vomited up his food. The subsequent times he vomited up bile and other stomach fluids.

Later on that night began shallow fast and shallow breathing again. At 1am that night I counted 94 breaths per minute. In contrast, another cat, Boo who was just laying about counted 20 deep breaths per minute. Fast respiratory breathing is an obvious sign of physical distress. Many other signs point to Cosmo being in extreme and obvious pain. He sat in the bread loaf position, which is almost sphinx style except the front legs and tucked in under the body. Cats choose that position to help themselves breath easier. He would recoil away from any touch or pressure to his chest area. He breathed with his mouth open. His pupils were fully dilated which is another bad sign that reveals pain and distress. Also, his eyes were glazed over and blank.

We were extremely concerned over this health. We feared that his ribs rebroke (from this incident) and caused internal damage. But, his illness was gradual over 24 hours. A broken rib would cause immediate pain. I had no idea what his problem was. I listened to his chest and noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

Since he was barely moving, making no noise, his ears became cool and gums turned from pink to white (all very bad signs, btw) we decided to take him to the emergency vet. I talked to a veterinary technician on the phone and she advised, naturally, for us to bring him in for a paid visit. Alright, so Tara and I stuck him in the cat carrier and we all entered my truck.

Immediately inside the truck Comso began breathing normally, his became alert, and his gums went back to a pink color. He started to talk. He was acting normal and healthy. This really confused me. We drove to the vet’s anyway. Once in the parking lot of the veterinarian clinic, we let the alert and energetic Cosmo out to walk around. Again, he acted totally normal. He was walking around, jumping in and out of the truck repeatably, and singing. His tail was up, he let us handle him, probe his gut and stomach (where I noticed that is bladder was full), squeeze his chest and general move him around. Again, he acted completely and totally fine and healthy.

The vet tech whom I spoke with on the phone came out to see what we were up to in the parking lot. Her and I spoke about the cat. she listened to his breathing on both sides of Cosmos chest for abnormalities but found none. She concurred with us that he appears healthy. Comso made us look like we were dreaming up an illness! She suggested that he was poisoned. Alright then, sounds like a nice idea, but at the time I new of nothing in the house which could have poisoned him. There was no charge since this generally casual conversation took place outside the vet clinic building in the parking lot.

Once we arrived home Comso urinated and experienced a bout of diarrhea. Right afterwards I checked the food dish and found the mold on the wet cat food in a tin container. Later that night Comso ate some food and drank a lot of water. He was mobile.

Today, Comso is acting normal once again! Yay!

(note: no other cat’s ate the bad, spoiled food.)