Anniversary of one’s passing English.ver

ChrisKyogetu Acrylic painting(2004)incomplete
Do not grieve, do not mourn, Ananda. We have together taught. I have taught that all that is beloved and dear is a being that is parted and separated. How can we say, "O, don't tear it down," when it is born, exists, is formed, and is broken? It cannot be so. Thou hast done a good deed, O Ananda. You have done a fine deed. You will be pure in no time.

Today, the 17th of August, is the anniversary of the death of a friend. Sometimes I wonder if the soul of a friend misses this world, if he misses the world that we talked about as being boring together.

I sometimes talk to Buddhists, including him. “Do not grieve, do not mourn, Ananda. We have together taught”

We have preached this together.”

At that time, I tell them that I like the words of the Buddha.  Ananda was suffering from separation from love and Buddha was enlightened. This contrast is typical of Buddhism.

He was sitting alone with his macbook in his favorite cafe.

He didn’t tell me anything about his physical weakness.

He didn’t tell me anything about his health.

After his death, the songs he wrote were not accessible by password.

I joined Mixcloud for his songs, but his songs had disappeared.

I still get Mixcloud notifications that I haven’t unsubscribed from.

I get Facebook birthday notifications and his age keeps increasing.

I had been posting on his timeline every year on his birthday.

I had to recreate the old account myself and I couldn’t find him.

When I was told that he had passed away, I tried to find traces of him as if in a panic, and I felt impatient that I couldn’t do it while he was still alive. There was not much to report this year.

In the years since he died, there has been nothing to report.

 And even now I have nothing to tell him.

Because it was not the future he wanted.

We talked about the future of the world, of Japan, and I was pessimistic and he was hopeful.

The world was not what he had said it would be.

I wondered if his soul would still love this world.

I thought so.

 In faith, it is the dead who know the facts about the gods and Buddhas with whom they have talked.

In my letter to him I wrote “In a letter to him I wrote: “You have gone to the answer

More than the words of our prayers, more than the reach of our hearts and hands, the dead are always beyond the imagination of the living.

The dead are always beyond the imagination of the living. I remember him laughing and saying.

“I want a chance.”

I never thought that a few words could leave such a deep impression on me.

The everyday, always ordinary, can become a lifetime of scars and sayings in relation to others.

The cancer that had consumed him as a young man took him away as speedily as it could.

We still have a chance.

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