In memory of Dan Blalock Jr., a great soul

When great trees fall in forests, small things recoil into silence, their senses eroded beyond fear; we mortals, not having heard, fear not.

But when a great soul dies, the air around us becomes light, rare and sterile. We breathe, softly, and listen. Our eyes briefly see with a hurtful clarity. Our memory, suddenly sharpened, examines and gnaws on kind words unsaid; we make walks that were never before taken.

When a great soul dies, our reality, bound to him, takes leave of us. Our souls, dependent upon his nurture, now shrink, and wince in distress. Our minds, formed and informed by his radiance, fall away. We are not so much maddened as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of why things are.

And when a great soul dies, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration called memories. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. He existed. He existed. We can be. Be and be better. For he existed.

Another of our great souls has fallen, like a rock tumbling from distant hills. And the young lions among us shudder and hunker down in the tall grass; even the elephants pause, tremor, and walk softly through the forest. May we remember the lessons Dan Blalock Jr. taught, and continue to lead a life that he demonstrated.

This story was originally published December 16, 2017 at 10:39 AM with the headline "In memory of Dan Blalock Jr., a great soul."