TRIBUTE | Bourdain Day
My late partner was a glorious being, a gentle empath who was deeply affected by the challenges of this world. We had a shared regard for Anthony Bourdain and I remember reading Bill’s beautiful tribute back in 2018, mere days after Bourdain’s death by suicide.
I have re-posted it here:
From “Parts Unknown”…”Keep Me In Your Heart”
“Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.””
John Donne made a clarion call for compassion in 1624, in the midst of a plague. With this statement he opened a question for humanity that exists today. Our plague today is not so visible. We suffer in silence. In the silence of a hospital bed with a chemo drip, on a dialysis hook up, the cardio ward or a treatment center.
Literature is “littered” with the like of Donne’s words. Russian novelist, Fydor Dostoevsky said, “Above all don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.”
Rainer Maria Rilke said, “I want to beg you as much as I can … to be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart, and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms, and books that are written in very foreign tongues. Do not seek the answers, which can not be given you, because you would not be able to live them. The point is to live everything, learn to live the questions now. Perhaps you will, then gradually, without noticing, live along some distant day into the answer.”
Last week was a very difficult week to understand. The deaths of Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain, take a toll on our understanding. They overshadow the deaths that happen in our communities on a daily basis. They upset life as we know it. We never expect death, even when it is imminent. All Death is sudden.
Some things are a mystery. Fate is woven with invisible threads that are revealed to us through circumstance. We are unable to see the meaning without a broader perspective. Perhaps in time we develop the capacity to forge our own meaning in the absence of receiving an answer.
We will never know what others mean or how much we mean to others. The saddest of all stories are the ones who exit in the middle of a song. Sadly our society will not allow us to ask for help. So we don’t know how to. No one teaches us that. We view seeking assistance as a sign of weakness.
No one ever wants to be a burden, yet, we all are. It makes no difference who you are, we all suffer that dilemma. It is the human condition, and there will always be a cost and a price to pay. It can be your soul or your wallet. Your peace of mind or your stature. It makes no difference, life will exact its toll. Sooner or later, we will all sit down to a banquet full of consequences.
Life is a beautiful mess. We are subject to a lot of things. In particular wonderful human beings with tortured souls that leave us, too early. They are unable to receive unconditional love and forgiveness or ask for help. We don’t suffer because of death. We suffer because we are human and death is always reminding us of that. It is another seed for the humility garden that never wants attention but yields gratitude. Something we never know, until we need it.
We don’t process loss, privately the way we are able to when it is public. On top of the celebrity suicides, all death is private and public. We don’t want to deal with shit. We would rather go over, under, around, or deny it.
Suicide, Depression, Addiction, & all forms of Mental Illness put our lives, and life in general, in the middle of a “shit storm,” of reality. Warren Zevon, in the last days of his life recorded, “Keep Me In Your Heart for a while.” His words, “There is a train leaving nightly, called when all is said and done…keep me in your heart for a while…hold me in your thoughts, take make to your dreams…”
In many ways Anthony Bourdain, stepped into a spotlight he never wanted. His gift was to turn serious social commentary into lyrical and culinary poetry. His storytelling rivaled the Celtic “Seanchai.” His way with words, along with a few anecdotes…made our hearts skip a beat, our feet want to move and our bodies shift into all sorts of contortions, into “Places Unknown.”
In times of quiet desperation, I want to scream and shout and ask why…like every one else. I too, had the same thoughts in quiet desperation. Depression is an awkward dilemma on top of a silent menace. It is a sickness that tells you it is not real. You go to sleep awake and wake up asleep. Your day is structured in a gray fog…colour is muted. You alone must accept this condition. You alone diagnose an undiagnosed affliction. You paint pictures that no one else can see.
In April of 2013, I was one step away from this same conclusion. Again in October of 2013 that fog pulled me into the same desperate thought process. I was fortunate enough to have people in my life who saw that desperation. In gentle and subtle ways they helped guide me through torrents of despair to a stream of contentment.
My grandfather once told me, “Read so that you will never be at a loss for words. You should always have something to say and make sure that you take time to say it well.”
I asked, “What about words in sorrow? Can you be at a loss for words then?”
He said, “Words are necessary especially in times of sorrow. Maybe you will someday see, “we place ourselves, in a ditch of our own making, along with cattails that have ruptured.”
He said, “That is where you will find words that need no expression. They only need a place.”
“A place”? I asked.
“Yes a place for the words to fall upon your heart”, he responded.
“Why upon it and not in the heart?” I quipped.
“Because our hearts are closed so you can never place the words in it. We just place them on top and then one day out of nowhere the heart will be broken and the words will fall into place.”
Anthony Bourdain, was meant for a kitchen, a microphone and a grand stage. His stories were legendary. From humble beginnings, this son of immigrants, was destined to tell the world a story. He was like a tiny seed, who realized in order to grow he had to be dropped in dirt…covered in darkness and forced to struggle to reach the light.
We never meet people by accident. We are always put on a path for a reason. Somehow this guy showed up in our kitchens, living rooms, bedrooms and shitters. He told stories that celebrated the decency and dignity of ordinary people. They were always so real. His command of language, dialect, content and context, gave us stories in language we understood. Like garbage shed rules. His ability to connect dots, made a drunken Friday night and the loose ends of a Saturday hangover; equal a serene Sunday meal.
His simplicity illustrated universal truths: We all need to heal our separation from reality and our struggle with that…whether in a kitchen, a classroom, a boardroom or a bedroom. The whole world is in need of that; a mind that is able to bridge the gap between “reality” & common sense.
The course of his life was a wonderful reminder. He was in so many ways a man’s man in a world of feminism. He was willing to be vulnerable, that was his universal appeal.
When my own life fell apart, Anthony Bourdain, showed me that a popsicle and the right people would be able to put things back in place. He lived a simple truth. It will always be in the running silence of our days that the joys of our lives are realized. It is in a state of humble gratitude that his culinary works may leave a legacy of words in temporary silence.
Last night I watched the stars in silence. I reminisced about time spent watching and being immersed in “Parts Unknown,” like most, Bourdain fans do. I fell head over heels in love with Canada, all over again. Time is always expected to be the healer. The void will remain and I will keep Anthony Bourdain and all of the souls of the faithfully departed, in my heart for a while.
It will be a beautiful moment in our world when we can say, “I am broken”…and the response is “I am too” and not…”let me help you” or “fix you!”
Life is “Me Too,” 86,400 seconds at a time. Not some time in the future. It is in accepting and understanding that, that we are able to see the true and deepest sense of “Keep Me In Your Heart…For A While.”
RIP Anthony Bourdain…from “Parts Unknown.”
Some of the links on The Ball Cap Disciple no longer work and the images are not of the best quality, I was happy to have remembered the video and improved the image quality. Over the next while, I hope to transfer the contents of the blog to mine so Bill’s words are not lost - he was such a thoughtful writer.