The property was a gentle nestling of ivy plants, apple trees, bamboo, and a giant Arbutus that reached toward the bay. I know now, how safe, and grounded Robin felt knowing this was his piece of the world. It was his blanket in the storm of life, his comfort and friend, his security. He was a sensitive soul, a strong man, and a gentle, kind, and honest friend. He was troubled by childhood ghosts, things that haunted him, and caused his final act, of taking his life.

 Being left to agonize and grieve was a punishing sentence. My life ended with his, even though I have lived over 20 years since. 

Any sense of purpose, pride, and all joy evaporated instantly, the moment he was gone. It wasn’t your fault, I was reassured. That didn’t matter, blame didn’t matter, nothing would bring him back, that was the pain. It felt like having my heart sucked into a black hole that was a vortex of agony and grief. 

Shortly after that, Robin Williams made the movie Where Dreams May Come, and I watched it in disbelief as it played out my pain. It was odd, but it felt personal, like it was meant to comfort me.

For so many years the daily re-examining of events played out. The drinking began. To sleep I needed to be numb. Many years have gone into an abyss of this numbness. Then the softening of the pain slowly began. Forgiveness and resolution, reconciliation of my actions at that time, with my insights now, comfort me with more understanding.

 I would buy the property back, if I could, for him. I believe it would give him peace. It would give me peace as well. There is no way to know God’s plan, but it just feels so wrong at times. I believe love is the strongest force and I was fortunate to feel love with Robin despite the troubles and grim ending. 

He visited me several times in my dreams but he was always distant. Dreams are always deeply and desperately appreciated. Any sense of being near him is a treasured moment. He never speaks, except once, I heard him talk to me. We were in the house on his property and it was a familiar scene. He wanted to be with his children and he was there with them, but after a few moments he stopped as if noticing the heartbreak in our faces and he realized he wasn’t alive, and was gone.  I clung to that dream, and tried to start it again. I tried to imagine myself in the cozy cottage with the heat from the wood stove warming the room. I tried to see him as clearly as I had before. It was so real and that made it harder to let go.

August Turns into October, and provides some contrast to the sunny days of summer.

While I work from home, and work on my own, the summer has given way to stormy rainy days, and cloudy coolness. It has been nice being home. I am getting used to it, and thinking of ways to make this the status quo. My creative side loves the freedom to work on my music, my art, and my self-expression through words. I believe I will soon have some writing on Kindle, which should be a fun experiment. I am getting into a routine of meditation, exercise, and work. So thankful.

This is pure poaching and resource robbery. These are part of the last remaining old growth in BC Canada. Who are the criminals behind this? These are not loggers, they are hired poachers. Men with empty souls prize these trees for the prestige of having their rare and magnificent wood. For thousands of years, there was harmony between the ancient trees and the people that lived here. The ugly sight of capitalist ships carrying restless minds and greedy souls signalled an assault on nature that was unimaginable. The depraved industrial monster began hacking down these majestic marvels. They seed the clouds for rain, they help create oxygen, they keep us all alive. They are 1000 years old. Men who only live at the most 100 years claim they are a “renewable” resource. If that was true there would no need to cut down the, less than, 2.9% of forest that they have been prevented so far from cutting. No argument justifies this poaching!