Lloyd Goldstein

I am playing for an elder woman who is happy to see me. She has bandages in her mouth and so much write on a sheet of paper in order to have a conversation with me. The chaplain is also present and some of her comments are directed to him as well.

“Visit by Lloyd (bass). (FL Orchestra). My husband and I had season tickets for years. We loved it. Why didn’t I know about this sooner? This is so uplifting! 5 weeks today! Joy! I was about 100 ft. in despair and gloom, and a little walk and that beautiful music helped move some of the cobwebs away. I’m being shipped out of here tomorrow and nowhere to go! It also has to be acceptable…no places…some totally undesirable. Digging for hope, help, whatever - So beautiful! So hopeful!”

Always a quiet smile and gentle, generous eyes. Listening and enjoying each piece and each visit with kindness, respect and gentle warmth. Today, after 7 weeks, he is worried. There are bills and insurance issues and this man who worked diligently throughout his life is worried about the security of his home and wife. He shares his concerns with me, and in doing so, honors and humbles me. The pressure of unexpected illness and weeks of ups and downs exact a heavy toll, even on the one the nurses fight over. Music created the bridge between us and music continues to maintain that, even after the difficult words have been spoken. Here I am again, one week later, and he is hopeful that he will be discharged soon, his counts are moving slowly upward and once again music spans the distance between us, like a handshake and a hug.

Sometimes there is unexpected intimacy, immediately, as soon as I introduce myself. Today a silver haired woman tells me - The doctors have informed me that there is nothing more they can do for me. I will be going home soon. - She seems sad and I choose a piece of music that is also a bit sad, like a simple prayer. She gets this and is somewhere between moist eyes and a little smile. Next comes ‘Over the Rainbow’. Then something a little faster and finally a song that dances lightly in G major. We have come from sadness and resignation to a moment of dancing together. A minor miracle, perhaps only temporary, and yet. . .

This post is from Brian Caroline, one of the kindest, most courageous, and brilliant young men I have had the honor to meet. He gives us a rare gift, a glimpse into the short time before dying that we all fear. His wisdom can be of great use to some of us if we choose to hear it.

Guess I’ll Be Hittin’ That Dusty Frequency (With Bonus Features Unlimited)
February 25, 2008
Tuesday is the day of many things. They are removing the sutures from my Feb. 14 surgery, I am talking to the pain clinic about my medications, I will have my 5th round of radiation on my upper spine and left hip/pelvis, and most importantly, I will have a meeting with the radiation doctor regarding my future plans. I will keep my radiation set up for the 14 treatments, but we will probably have the Pinellas County Hospice meet us at our house when we go home later this week to see how their services would affect us. It might be easier to stay at home with their help than to come to Moffitt all of the time. We will find out. It’s a hard decision, but I have so many problems that are building up, they can’t all be stopped or ignored. I’ve got to accept the fact that dying is a reality.
But being an existentialist philosopher has added a year to my life, or at least allowed me to make it this far without being a depressed wombat. I offer some philosophy and my weird version of truth.
As Donnie Darko says, “We all die alone.” But that is only a moment. In the movie Donnie Darko, an alternate universe opens up where Donnie finally enjoys a real life, where he gets to understand love, and then he must sacrifice himself, the extra universe dies away, but people still remember the good times that happened there. So with Anastasia I got to experience a real life before it was too late. It was all worth it.
And good ol’ Hamlet’s father appears to his son and says, “Remember me.” We just want the good times to be remembered. Although the world seems unjust and out of joint, enjoy what can be enjoyed before it’s too late, and then remember me.
Do not worry, though, I will hang around. I have read enough crazy books to believe that life and death, the universe and everything are frequencies. When viewed from different perspectives by those who are open, more frequencies can be detected. Death is a release of our higher energy from the imprisonment of the lower-frequency body. The body can be fun, but eventually we must move on. But I will try to hang around, being another special voice in Anastasia’s head and telling jokes or test answers to family and friends. Life and death are modes of being that are connected. I can be a guide like the one Socrates had in his head, but I will be better, not only telling people what not to do, but also providing them with many movie and Simpsons quotes.
I will hang around, I will be around, and because I am crazy, I will go…laughing through the sky. But still…
I will be here—just ask Travis—FOR I AM THE WATCHER.

Existentialist philosophy does not depend on writings or thinking. It is a matter of living your life according to your truth, because life is art, and you are the master of it. You paint your life and try to make it as beautiful as you can. You try to make the best possible world out of your situation. You don’t always write what you want, you can’t always edit so well, but you write what you can. This was supposedly a year of no work, but I worked harder than ever before. It was one difficult art class. Maybe I’m not a god on the scale of a 10, but a 9—I reckon so. I had to somehow sculpt painful materials into something transfigured that can be meaningful and worth experiencing for myself and others. Most of the time my pain was not so bad. It was just the suffering of not being who I once was. But I deepened as well and my relationships became much more than ever before—it was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the blurst of times. Frickin’ monkey! The blurst of times? I got married, which was very important, although I never thought it meant anything before.
But this book of life that I have begun, I’ve learned tricks to continue chapters after the publication. From the Bible, from Castaneda’s Don Juan sorcerer books, from Icke and the fourth-dimensional aliens, the Matrix, the energy-theories of life in the Celestine Prophecy. I will be around, if possible. If not, there’s nothing to worry about and nothing to be done. But I’d like to continue my entertainment and human connections. That’s all I know. I can’t say what will happen, but I am going to find out. That can be exciting. I don’t have to fear. As Kierkegaard said, “Sweep me up.” I am That Individual, I am going to find out. Dad has read me a lot of philosophy lately, including Metallica and Philosophy and a Nietzsche autobiography. Difficult stuff, but the old man stays dedicated to it. I am a wise old man whose body forced him away from the physical to spiritual enlightenment. I guess I matured like the sage Zarathustra, too early. I am ready for the end, my friend, the end. It is just a new beginning. I’ll be there, waiting with Hendrix, when I’m not being The Watcher. And I have so many writings that can be used to connect with me, but they won’t bring nightmares like in the Butterfly Effect, for they are good. Remember me…
Regrets? Not finishing my Blockbuster Online movie queue. Wah-wah! I love guitar. I’ve got to play some more insanity, even if it hurts—who cares? I will videotape it because music can express all that words cannot. I will play the soul and the universe. They are the same. We are all together. As you can see, I had no plan. I write whatever happens. That’s my script. I’ll be back, for I am…
Brian The Laughing Monkey