Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Dogs, Log, Moon, Cancer, Marriage, Lighthouse, Nightmare, Friendships, Family, Writing, Love

Yesterday we lost Catherine Coulson, Twin Peaks' Log Lady. A few weeks ago we lost one of my biggest creative inspirations, Wes Craven, director of A Nightmare on Elm Street and Scream. In early August Gus and I lost Sunny, our beloved Sheltie. Scorching summer has led to a thus-far crisp, breezy autumn. The Super Blood Harvest Lunar Eclipse grabbed the night sky this Sunday and cast a spell over those of us standing outside, gazing up, joined by this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Last night -- not yet knowing of Ms. Coulson's passing -- Gus and I took a walk down by the river, and the purples and reds of the sunset pitched themselves over clouds and the ripples in the water; it was a perfect evening; I even said, "If only ever single day felt just like this."

In many ways, literally and emotionally, this has been a year of loss. One of Gus's best friends passed away from cancer this spring, one of three human deaths we've navigated in 18 months. And Sunny's passing brought us back to losing our other dog, Luna, last August. Isn't it strange how the ghosts of loved ones can sometimes be our own neurons and patterns and hearts rearranging themselves? I'll still see a crumpled black blanket on the sofa and think for a second it's Sunny, or I'll drop a bit of scrambled egg off the spatula onto the ground and wonder, truly, in that moment, where's Sunny so he can lick it up as a special treat, or Gus will leave my writing room door open after kissing me goodbye in the morning and we'll both pause and think, "This way, Sunny can wander in and curl up by the writing desk," or I'll be driving to work and I'll think about Luna -- in that way where you sometimes feel dropped back in time to a very specific feeling and sensation as if you'd hitched a ride with a tesseract -- and I'll start crying and wiping tears and getting my steering wheel all wet.

Inseparable and equally important and understood only through and because of loss, this has been a year of growth & strength & friendship & soulful victory & rebirth -- in other words, a year of Life. Gus and I woke up on June 26th, 2015, at the Heceta Head Lighthouse Bed & Breakfast to both our five-year anniversary and the Supreme Court announcement on gay marriage. Over breakfast with the other guests, as waves crashed against rocks, and winds and fog whipped in around the lighthouse, the group of us from around the world discussed this momentous, inspiring day. In all the craziness of the world, light & rightness do make headway and stake claims in hearts. On a related note, I'm blessed and honored that my brother Aaron and his finance Stephenie asked me to officiate their wedding next summer; this opportunity means the world to me and is another bright light -- a lighthouse beacon, if you will -- in a strange and stormy year. This is the year Charlie moved to "Twin Peaks" (aka North Bend, Washington) and I went to visit him and, alongside our TP friend Mary, bumped into David Lynch and Mark Frost in the hallway of the Salish Lodge, aka The Great Northern. This is the year I met The Log Lady at the Twin Peaks Fest. This is the year my writing muse, Cassandra, and I made an agreement to dive in deeper and reach even higher and recharge ourselves with focus, intent, love, and creative shenanigans. This is the year I've gone lovingly crazy with new TV show ideas and movie ideas and started writing treatments for this other part of my creative self that I've put aside for awhile. This is the year I've decided to step back and look at my amazing friendships and channel full-on gratitude. This is the year of not taking things, people, feelings for granted. This is the year my family leaps forward, or starts to, where Buck Luck takes on new meaning. I've just touched the tip of the iceberg here -- there have been other losses of late, confusions, questions, other hard-earned successes both tangible and intangible. I haven't felt so "Nathan" in a long time. I'm here. I'm here. I'm here.