The King is dead

The first thing to pop on my screen this morning when I switched my computer on was an offline Yahoo message from a friend, written at 1 AM last night. "Michael Jackson just died. Cardiac Arrest." I grinned, still half asleep, wondering about the punchline to the joke, and then it hit me.

Michael Jackson has really died. The King of Pop is gone. And I cannot help but feel tremendously sad. Throughout my life, I have been a big fan of his music. As an early teenager, I loved songs like "Ben" or "Can you feel it". I had just left home and gone into the big world on my own when his megasalling albums "Off the Wall" and "Thriller" came out. It was his music blasting from the speakers, that drew me and the friend I used to go out with at the time, to what would become our favorite little discotheque in Amsterdam. I'll even admit to having practised then mastered the moonwalk, as well as various other dance moves he made famous. "HiStory" was not as big a hit as his previous albums, yet I loved the depth and the emotion in the songs on it. Moving from easy, danceable, plastic pop Michael Jackson showed he had a heart and soul, and that at times they were bleeding because of all the injustice and pain, both in his personal life and in the world as a whole. His "Earth Song" can make me cry still today. And yes I know it's overcommercialised, but take that away and it's still an incredible song. As is most of his material.

And yet, in spite of all the fame and the millions he made, his life as a whole was one big tragedy. I think we all know the story so I'm not going to repeat it here. Comparisons with Peter Pan come to mind, as well as Heinlein's "Stranger in a strange land". When I think of him, I see an extremely gifted artist, completely lost in a world he didn't understand, and that never really understood him, in return. Wacko Jacko.

And so, the song ringing in my head at the moment, is not by him. It's an old Don McLean song named "Vincent", and it's about Vincent van Gogh, the famous Dutch painter who just like Michael Jackson was a complete misfit.

Part of the lyrics go like this:

"For they could not love you
but still your love was true

and when no hope was left in sight on that starry
starry night.
You took your life
as lovers often do;
But I could have told you
Vincent
this world was never
meant for one
as beautiful as you."

Rest in peace, Michael. You have finally found Neverland, beyond the second star on the right. To me, you will always be beautiful. Thank you, for everything.

Who's that girl?

More songwriting.. spilling a bit of my soul here.


**

Who's that girl?

Well I wonder who that girl is
she is sitting in my chair
and she wears my clothes, she has my face
she has even got my hair

But her eyes are close to crying
and her mouth has lost its grin
and as far as I can tell from here
she is close to caving in

And she's asking all her closest friends
what she may be doing wrong
'cause she used to always laugh and sing
she was always tough and strong
and she used to dodge or take the blows
and she could take on the world
so I really wonder who she is
tell me please.. who is that girl?

Yeah I wonder who that girl is
she is speaking in my voice
but it's far too soft, and trembling
like she doesn't have a choice

And I wish that I could help her
but I don't know who she is
She's a stranger yet familiar
she's the part of me I miss

And I'm asking all my closest friends
what I may be doing wrong
'cause I used to always laugh and sing
I was always tough and strong
Now the bleeding heart has surfaced
and it doesn't have a name
But if she is me, then I am her
and a fighter all the same

Special girls

Last Saturday, my daughter celebrated her 14th birthday with a slumberparty, inviting 3 of her closests friends to spend the evening and the night at our house. I will admit I wasn't looking forward to it. All three of them are 'special" kids with psychological and behavioral issues, and I wasn't really sure I could even do this. Especially since in the week prior to the party I had collapsed pretty badly myself, a lot of my undealt with hurt from the past surfacing, leaving me in tears and wondering how on earth I was supposed to go on. When that happened, I pondered my options. Seeing a therapist wasn't my number one choice, given it is pretty hard to find a good one. And so I decided to work through this all by myself. In Pema Chodrun's "Noble Heart" training, which I have here as an audio course, I found exactly what I was looking for. How to turn our mind from anger and hurt towards a completely open mind/heart, filled with love and compassion. All this wasn't new to me, as I have been studying Buddhism in general and Pema Chodrun in particular for quite some time now. But it is funny how, even when we know what to do and how to do it, we forget so easily, caught up as we are in the problems of everyday life and our ego driven sense of self that feels this strong need to defend itself against what we perceive as suffering, the unfairness and harshness of life itself. And so, still barely back on my feet emotionally myself, the day came and the girls arrived.

My husband and son left for dinner and a movie in Amsterdam, partly so they didn't have to be a part of all the girlie stuff going on, and partly because for the girls it would be much nicer to make this an "all females event", as well. And the last thing I had expected happened: I had a blast. All of the girls were absolutely wonderful and a delight to have around. Sure, they have their issues, all sorts of them, but they are also, maybe even because they are "special", very real, very open and from the heart. Without any effort they dragged me into their world, which evolves around the boys at school, puberty and the insecurities that come with it, and silly giggling about absolutely nothing. We sang karaoke with the Playstation and one of the girls turned out to be a true little songbird with a very pure voice. The rest was actually horrible to listen to, but they sang with so much joy it didn't even really matter. We went out to have dinner at a local cafetaria and I sat there listening to their stories, grinning big and not caring at all about the fact they were actually being really loud, at times screaming their heads off laughing or teasign one of the girls who had gotten a smile and a wink from a hunk who was sat at the next table and couldn't stop blushing about it. Walking back home we hooked our arms into each others and so all five of us formed a row, and I was amazed at how easily they accepted me in. Later on back home there was storytelling, Twister and watching a movie on DVD. Then finally it was bedtime, more giggling and laughing and talking until it was really late and I had to take on my adult role for the first time, telling them they really had to go to sleep now.

The next day, I made them all a big breakfast, and soon after they all got picked up by their parents. I was truly sorry to see them leave and found myself telling them that, if ever they wanted to come over again, they would always be more than welcome.

I'm still amazed by what a big difference a change in thinking can make. I could have easily chosen to get totally frustrated and stressed out by their loudness, their sometimes strange behavior and all sorts of things. But simply shifting my focus towards seeing the good things, sharing in their life, joy and sadnesses made this a great and very energizing experience. These kids really are special. But not in the way society uses special as a synonym for handicapped. There is a purity, a joy and a heart in them, and often all sorts of talents that are easily overlooked because of the stigma they carry with them. I can't count the times people have told me "ohmy, so you have an autistic daughter. That must be so hard." No one ever goes "that must be a fantastic challenge, I envy you". And yet, this is true as much as that it is sometimes hard to deal with. And I wish I knew of a way to make people see that, and to embrace these kids instead of writing them off as "special", secretly meaning: losers. They are anything but.