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couchmonkey · 4 years

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PILOT season!!

When I was young, Brandon Tartikoff was a hero of mine. I always fancied myself a closet programmer, so I love pilot season. THR published a list of the projects moving forward and as I was procrastinating, some are already on the air.

Let’s start with Stumptown. Inspired by the Oni Press graphic novels, Dex Parios (Cobie Smulders), a strong, assertive and unapologetically sharp-witted (but, let’s face it, hot mess) Army veteran working as a P.I. in Portland. Michael Ealy plays the cop because there must always be one. His boss is Camryn Manheim (yes!!), and the whole reason I heard about the show is Tantoo Cardinal, a powerful local Native American tied to Dex’s past. Oops, almost forgot the best friend, JakeJohnson of New Girl. His past is a little messy, too. He now owns a bar and employs Dex’s brother Ansel (Cole Sibus). It’s a tight cast, and Dex really is a hot mess nut she gets things done.

All Rise, it looks like, was originally pitched as Courthouse, good thing they changed the name! Simone Missick is a former DA who just became a judge and is encircled by Ruthie Ann Mills as her assistant, Lindsay Mendez as her stenographer, J. Alex Brinson as the deputy in her courtroom, and Marg Helgenberger as her mentor. I was not familiar with the first three when I started the show but they are a strong team. The 2 main lawyers are Wilson Bethel, a DA and old friend of Missick’s judge, and Jessica Camacho, a VERY determined public defender. I like the dynamics of the show, it’s very seldom a case of the week situation (even though there is one). Viewers get little snippets of most of the characters’ lives organically so, in my opinion, you enjoyed the show more the more you watch.

Evil is one of the most unique shows on the air this season. It pits science and religion, Katja Herbers plays a skeptical clinical psychologist who joins a priest-in-training (Mike Colter) and a blue-collar contractor ( Aasif Mandvi) to investigate supposed miracles, demonic possessions and other extraordinary occurrences to see if there's a scientific explanation or if something truly supernatural is at work.The give and take between science and religion is truly engaging and Michael Emerson is truly creepy and possibly playing for the other side in this battle.

Bob Hearts Abishola follows Bob (Billy Gardell) who, after having a heart attack, falls in love with his Nigerian nurse (Folake Olowofoyeku). I think I saw the pilot, the rest of the episodes are on my DVR at the moment and thanks to some of the promos and Christine Ebersole, I do plan to get to them. ETA: I’ve watched a couple. Folake Olowofoyeku is really great but because this whole thing seems to involve the progress of their relationship, it runs a little slow for me.

Carol's Second Act is also piling up on my DVR. I’ve been on bedrest because of an injury and have been mostly streaming. But, like Bob, I do plan to get to it. I do like that Patricia Heaton is the lead, a med student of all things. I have to think it’s also still on the air because it also has a strong male lead, Kyle MacLachlan, although I’ve never personally seen him do comedy. Cedric Yarbrough is a strong motivator for me as well as I saw every episode of Speechless. ETA: Well, plans change. I erased them all. I thought if I hadn’t gotten to them by now, watching them would be a chore.

The Unicorn is a sitcom I actually have been watching. I didn’t want to at first because, although I’d heard of Walton Goggins, I had never actually seen him in anything. But it’s kind of like Seinfeld in that there is such an impressively strong group playing the couples who are his friends. Omar Benson Miller (yes!!) and Maya Lynne Robinson are a couple with 4 kids and essentially a no nonsense approach and Rob Corddry and comedy goddess Michaela Watkins are the white color kid with a single kid who is well on her way to nerdhood. These four a Goggins’ lifeline after his wife passes and he becomes a single father. The whole widower thing is handled well. His wife is mentioned or remembered in a completely organic way and allows the show to stay away from a trajectory that could have become maudlin.

Prodigal Son is another fairly unique concept for this season. Tom Payne plays Malcolm Bright, the son of a notorious serial killer called The Surgeon (Michael Sheen) who understands how killers think. The criminal psychologist uses his skills to help an NYPD unit led by Lou Diamond Phillips, a cop he’s known since his youth. What is interesting for me so far is that Bright’s mom, Bellamy Young, is her own kind of nuts, and Malcolm, who started off as a little nutty (I mean consider his past), is well on his way to possibly off his rocker.

Bluff City Law is a case of the week legal drama set in Memphis. The viewer is getting smidges of the character’s private lives each week but character development seems a little slow. I like Caitlin McGee’s performance but I’d never heard of her before watching this. The anchor for the show and the law firm in it is Jimmy Smits. The supporting cast, especially Barry Sloane who’s mostly navigated a single case for the first part of the season, is just starting to get noticed. It’s not something I race to watch but I like it. ETA: It has gotten cancelled. Poor Barry Sloane.

Emergence was a show I was waiting for as it marked the return of Allison Tolman. She plays a sheriff who takes in a young child that she finds near the site of a mysterious accident who has no memory of what has happened. The investigation so far has been weird and sometimes violent and definitely is affecting her family, including father Clancy Brown and ex-husband Donald Faison. But, bless her, she is nowhere near ready to give up. The cliffhanger before Christmas break was very illuminating.

I have watched a couple of episodes of Perfect Harmony (the rest are on my DVR). I love that Bradley Whitford is doing outright comedy although his character, an Ivy League music professor, is quite cranky. But I’m not in a rush to get back to it because it doesn’t seem like there’s enough material for it to run for multiple seasons. ETA: Like Carol’s Second Act, these got dumped off my DVR.

While we’re talking about enough material, Sunnyside was one of the first casualties of the season and, I have to say, I saw it coming. The pilot was well done, Kal Penn played Garrett Shah, a disgraced former New York city councilman who finds his calling when faced with immigrants in need of his help and in search of the American Dream. I know the immigration and nationalization process in the US is a lengthy process but it just didn’t seem like there was enough to keep people coming back despite the presence of talent like Diana Maria Riva.

Almost Family revolves around Julia Beckley (Brittany Snow) having her life turned upside down when it's revealed that her father, a pioneering Nobel Prize-winning fertility doctor, used his own sperm to conceive dozens of children over the course of his career. She connects with two “sisters” in particular and I think that’s what they’ve built the show on but I had a hard time believing any of the negative effects of all this coming from Snow and chose to stop watching. I do have the Australian show it’s based on as part of my Netflix list, I think I will probably end up watching that first.

I did start watching Batwoman before my injury, it being female led and all. Ruby Rose does inspire a bit of monotony in the voiceovers that populate the show but I get it, she’s tired, she’s working hard and only making minimal progress, I understand she’s not full of pep. It is kind of weird to watch her slip into the suit and try to make it work for her and watch Camrus Johnson, the steward of the life Bruce Wayne abandoned, do his best to both avoid and become her Alfred. ETA: That got dumped off the DVR, too. There’s SOOOO much TV.

FBI: Most Wanted is a spinoff of FBI (somebody may have to stop Dick Wolf) featuring  Julian McMahon of Nip/Tuck as the head of team tasked with hunting down fugitives. Sadly, it’s been pretty run of the mill so far except for McMahon’s in-laws, which include Nathanial Arcand as his brother-in-law and a member of his squad.

The CW did reboot Nancy Drew and while I did not hate the concept, I’m still loyal to Pamela Sue Martin and chose not to watch it.

These are the shows that are on the air. Some mid-season shows are still ready to roll out. Some are already being bolstered by promos like Deputy. I am looking forward to that one and watching Stephen Dorff unexpectedly be made the sheriff of LA County. I think and really hope Yara Martinez, last seen and underutilized on Bull, will get to be a meaty part of this drama. ETA: Yara has gotten some featured episodes and done well but she’s essentially in the same boat as David Conrad on the Ghost Whisperer and Jake Weber on Medium.

Tommy is another cop show but thankfully Tommy is Abigail Thomas’ nickname and Edie Falco is front and centre as the first female chief of police for Los Angeles. She got the position as part of a court mandate after some ugliness in the department and often has to deal with the mayor, Tom Sadowski. Tommy’s assembled a pretty tight circle so far and, of course, does things her own way, so I’ve been trying to watch this live.

Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist is SOOOOOO good. I’ve missed Jane Levy so much and this has not only a lovely story but singing and dancing (with choreography by Mandy Moore). After an accident in an MRI machine, Levy’s character can hear people expressing their feelings through song. Her supporting cast is top notch. Alex Newell of Glee plays her neighbor who is trying to help Zoey figure this out, Skylar Astin of Pitch Perfect and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend is her BFF, Lauren Graham is her boss, and Mary Steenburgen and Peter Gallagher are her parents. Some of the most touching scenes (and songs) have involved Levy and Gallagher, who has lost many functions, including speech and a lot of movement. Thanks to Zoey’s condition, he is able to express himself to her through song and Gallagher’s voice is so sweet.

Geniuses has become Outmatched and features Maggie Lawson and Jason Biggs as parents of 4 children, 3 of whom are geniuses. I’ve seen 3 episodes so far. Everyone except the “normal” child seems to be waiting for a rimshot. I did enjoy Tony Danza as Jason Bigg’s dad but I am not going to be busting my butt to watch it.

Uninsured has become Indebted. Adam Pally and Abby Elliott end up having to take care of Dave's parents (Fran Drescher and Steven Weber), who have mismanaged their finances and need help paying down a sizable debt. Sadly, like Outmatched, everyone seems to be waiting for a rimshot and the jokes seem really repetitive. Weber’s character, for example, is constantly talking about spending extravagant amounts of money even though he is deep in debt and I doubt they’re going after a dementia storyline with him. When the name Dan Levy popped up on the credits I did a lightning fast search on IMDB to make sure it was not, in my mind, THE Dan Levy of Schitt’s Creek, and thankfully, there are 2 of them.

Lincoln Rhyme, who was played on the big screen by Denzel Washington, is now Russell Hornsby from Grimm and Fox’s failed Proven Innocent. There’s still an Amelia Sachs, there’s still a Bone Collector, and Michael Imperioli is always a strong utility player but I’m finding it collecting on the DVR because of the plethora of good stuff available on Thursday and my need to get through that because sampling Friday’s mostly guilty pleasures.

Katy Keene has made it air. It’s a Riverdale spinoff on the CW and they are spending a lot on advertising but not enough to rope me in. Not that I think it’s not a good show, I’m just not the target audience.

Of the rest of the list, I know the planned reboots of New York Undercover and NYPD blue did not make it out of the gate.

I’m never going to get this post finished if I included all of the pilots on the list I still haven’t talked about, so I’ll go with bullet points about the ones that stood out to me:

Nana: Katey Sagal playing a grandmother. Yeah.

An untitled comedy pairing Leslie Odom Jr. and Kelly Jenrette: GREAT team, well matched I think.

The Republic of Sarah: Sarah Drew of Grey's Anatomy goes from mayor to president. So much story potential there.

Broke: Jaime Camil and Natasha Leggero plus Pauley Perrette - uh, yes please. Sounds like a very strong team to me.

Next is a vehicle for Jon Slattery of Mad Men, who I adore, but I don’t recognize much of the supporting cast, which could be a problem if none of them are able to rise to his level.

Filthy Rich features Kim Cattrall and Gerald McRaney, a very strong base but I’m wondering how the religious community will respond to a story about how imperfect true believers can be. Another plus for me, it’s supposed to be filmed in New Orleans.

Richard Lovely is a vehicle for the uber talented Thomas Lennon, who plays the disgruntled author of the best-selling children's book series, Mr. Mouse. It looks like he’ll have Wendie Malick as a frequent scene partner and I believe that to be an ideal pairing.

Council of Dads is getting a lot of advertising but will involve death. If they handle it as well as The Unicorn has, I think it might have a chance.

That’s all I’ve got. I wish I’d finished this sooner. My DVR is 63% full. I’m going to match more TV.

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limejuicer1862 · 4 years

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Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Jason O’Toole,

is a Rhylsing Award nominated poet, musician, and elder advocate. He is the author of two poetry collections published by the Red Salon, Spear of Stars (2018) and Soulless Heavens (2019). Recent work has appeared in Nixes Mate Review, The Scrib Arts Journal, The Wild Word, and Vita Brevis.

The Interview

1. What inspired you to write poetry?

From a young age, poetry has been my way of sharing thoughts and observations that could not otherwise be easily introduced into conversation. As an adult, it’s also how I process trauma and grief, from surviving shoot-outs and seeing horrible events at work, to losing contact with my children in the wake of a divorce. I don’t want to self-obsess and start every poem with “I” though and many of my current poems tell stories about the down-and-out people I encounter throughout my day, whether an addict waiting for her dealer behind a building or a disabled vet whose family never visit.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

When I entered 4th grade I had a teacher at the Albany Academy named Mrs. Everett. She was from England and “old school” in the best way. We were given short poems to memorize and recite each week such as Carl Sandberg’s “The Fog.” If we got our assignments done, she let us read books from her library, which contained classics such as Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur.

My family had shelves full of books. My brother and I recognized that these contained the secret to the mystical power that adults had over us. He got started on the science books, and I started reading the philosophy and poetry. I didn’t always understand what I was reading but they felt familiar to me somehow. I kept a dictionary on hand to look up the meaning of words. The first poets that I recall relating best to were e.e. cummings, T.S. Eliot, William Butler Yeats, and A.E. Housman. I also discovered William S. Burroughs way too young.

2.1. Why did you find yourself relating best to “ e.e. cummings, T.S. Eliot, William Butler Yeats, and A.E. Housman.” ?

The accessible avant-gardist e. e. cummings appealed to me as his poems were stripped down to the bone yet impactful and visually appealing. His playful, off-label use of syntax and made-up words opened up possibilities for me as a kid writing my first non-rhyming poems.

T.S Eliot was another poet that every college educated family had hanging around on their shelves. The Waste Land gave me a road map for leaving the 20th Century. It didn’t go anywhere especially good, but how could it. “Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.”

William Butler Yeats was one of the greatest magickal minds of his time. I didn’t realize this on my first reading of his poems as his occult history was almost entirely glossed over by the academics. As a kid I knew there was something pagan and exciting lurking behind the verse. I also enjoyed reading the Irish folklore he and Lady Gregory preserved. Later I would learn of his run ins with Aleister Crowley and that added to the allure.

A.E. Housman’s A Shropshire Lad was written with the gloomy adolescent male in mind. I memorized several of the poems and drew cartoons to go along with them. When The Smiths came on the scene, I immediately connected with the lyrics on the Hatful of Hollow ep which seemed to have been spawned from a similar maudlin mind.

2.2. Why did you discover “William S. Burroughs way too young”?

My grandparents had friends, Vincent and Brita, who were painters who also owned an enviable art collection which included a Picasso, purchased for half-nothing before he was famous. I would sit and read in their library, and of course the title Naked Lunch jumped out at me. I was in middle school at the time. Maybe 5th grade? The strangest fiction I had read prior to this was Madeleine L’Engle’s Time Quintet and Ursla K. Le Guin’s The Lathe of Heaven. I didn’t quite know what the hell was happening in it, but it was filthy and funny. I was hooked and read almost everything Burroughs wrote before the age of 16. I enjoyed making collage and cut-ups, some of which I published in zines I made with Sam McPheeters, and during high school, Burroughs was one of my main influences along with The Situationists International, Dr. Anton LaVey, and The Church of Subgenius in my visual art, comics, poetry and prose.

3. How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

In my early teens, I’d gone on my own to hear Allen Ginsberg and Anne Waldman read, and having read Burroughs, Kerouac, Corso and others associated with them, knew that I could learn a lot from the Beats. I also knew that I would have to find my own voice. I was in absolutely no rush to do so. Though I have contributed lyrics and vocals on several underground recordings of punk and experimental music and edited Situationist and Punk zines and an academic journal (Dialectical Anthropology) I did not start seriously seeking publication of my poems until 2018. Now I am one of the older poets!

4. What is your daily writing routine?

I never know when I will be struck by the need to write a poem or story. Almost none of my poems are planned. I don’t sit down and say, “I’m going to bang out a poem about a seagull.” I might overhear a phrase in conversation, read a terrible on-line review, or have a traumatic memory resurface. I always keep a notebook on me so I can jot down whatever strikes me as worth recording. Some of these notes wind their way into poems.

Less often I will write short stories, essays, or tinker with one of my novels-in-progress. I find that speculative fiction allows me to hide real stories and people (from my work as an investigator) in plain sight and process some of my worst experiences.

5. What motivates you to write?

Poets and authors have helped me make sense of being human better than any church ever could. I hope I can help others unravel some of the mysteries, complexities and inanities of existence. For some of us, it’s a matter of survival – finding a reason to stay sober, make less terrible choices, and get through another day.

6. What is your work ethic?

Many people complain that they have no time to write. I do my best not to have unmet obligations hanging over me. I pay my bills, get the laundry done, never leave a dish in the sink. I may find other reasons to procrastinate, but at least I won’t waste time worrying about daily chores and it’s easier to write with a clean house.

7. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

I feel a distinct kinship with certain poets and authors. There is a lineage that exists for writers akin to the lineages in religious orders, martial arts schools or royalty. There are poets I read in my teens and twenties who I abhor now, such as Bukowski. I still read him now and again, perhaps as a reminder of what not to be. As for my own tribe, I’ll read Corso and then follow the stream back to Shelley who defined “the pain of bliss” that both poets articulated. I’ll jump from Ignatow’s mountains and bagels, to Williams, “No ideas but in things” to Whitman’s sacred bodies, and to teenage rebel Rimbaud, and then back to where I find – myself.

8. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

Juleigh Howard-Hobson is a fellow avant-garde traditionalist. Unlike most modern poets, she is also a formalist. Despite poems written in form not being in style, she is prolifically published and has earned awards and several important nominations. She’s also published fiction and non-fiction, all while living off the grid and running a small family farm in the Pacific Northwest. As one of my mentors, Juleigh has been generous with her time and is always willing to share calls for submissions and her extensive knowledge of the small presses and poetry journals.

9. Why do you write, as opposed to doing anything else?

I am a fair guitar player, have managed to sell some of my art in galley shows, and apparently my singing is okay for what it is, but poetry is the one thing I feel I have the ability to be “the best” at if I focus more of my energy on reading, appreciating and writing poetry. It’s sometimes a solitary exercise, but there is a vibrant community out there as well. Now that I’ve been sober for three years and am not a resentment machine, I can get along fairly well with other poets and maybe even be an asset to the community.

10. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

I can only answer how one might become a writer like myself. There are many paths, and some are surely more lucrative than my own. First you must be a reader. I don’t trust poets who don’t read other poets. I believe they are only taking selfies with words.

Secondly, you must be a listener and understand that listening isn’t the opposite of talking. It’s an active role. Be a semiotician and try to understand why people are saying what they are saying. Why are they choosing certain words over others? Pay attention to tone of voice, body language and the messages that they are trying to convey with their personal style. This practice of reading the signs that people flash, has the added benefit of anticipating problems, and could save your life!

Get outside, have some adventures, mix it up with people outside of your usual circle, and observe everything. Try to spot the details that others miss. Drive to some town you’ve never been to before and spot what’s different about it from your town. What are the names on the headstones? What are the mom and pop businesses selling? Get out of the car and talk to people and ask them questions and you may learn of local legends, ghost stories, and witch’s graves.

Stay curious and be present in life. Maybe then you’ll have something interesting to tell the rest of us. People love a good story, so you have that in your favour from the start. Go find one.

11. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

I am contributing spoken word to recordings with Herr Lounge Corps and we should have an album out before long. I am performing and recording stateside with Alec K. Redfearn, a Providence based composer of weird music. I plan on introducing and editing the collected poems of a certain forgotten female poet and occultist. Some of my weird fiction stories have been published by horror presses and I’m slowly working on a couple of novels. I’m gratified that my poems have been published in journals and anthologies around the world, that I’ve been nominated for the Rhysling Award, and that I have more than enough for a third collection when the time is right. People are reading my writing and are reaching out to tell me what it means to them. For me, that means everything.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Jason O’Toole Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

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extroversive-introvert · 6 years

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Matthew 5:4, and the Grief of Change

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”

These are the words of Jesus, from the Beatitudes portion of the Sermon on the Mount. I’ll spend my life unpacking those three chapters, the very heart of the Gospel itself.

Let me tell you a bit about my poly friend Trevor. We entered poly at the same time, enrolled into the same school but in different courses, graduated together. Among all my non-Mass Comm FMS friends, he was my closest one. We happened to be in the same IS classes most of the time. Trevor was a man of invincible patience and quiet resolve. Outside of class, people always remarked on his kindness; it had this gentle strength that had the ability to lift people without inflating them as well as humble them without degrading them. Even when he was tired, he still made the effort to offer a smile (that was bright enough to light up any room/photo) and entertain stories and humour, and even when I was tired, he’d always initiate conversation. He was pure sunshine, and I didn’t deserve a friend like him.

Trevor had an upbeat, happy-go-lucky personality that endeared him to so many, but I saw through the veneer pretty quick and knew he was hurting badly, because I fight suicidal thoughts on a daily basis too, and still do. Being bubbly and animated and self-deprecating is also how I bury my demons. And it kills me inside now that even though we talked several times at length about our battles with depression, I wasn't there for him in the end when I had ample chance to. I wish I could've told him that he wasn’t the only fighter. I wish I could hug him and his scars and say "I swear it'll be okay, not today but one day". So when I received the news, my heart broke, because as much as I wish I had the capacity to carry the weight of both our tortured souls, I know I'm not strong enough.

So when I was offshore on NS duties finding out he had taken his life by jumping from the 23rd storey of his HDB flat, time stood still. It was beyond anything I’d ever experienced before. An exhausting, lonely heartache. Grief is a non-linear process; it comes and goes in waves like the tideline. There are periods where there’s an underlying dullness but sometimes and without warning, there’s a searing sharpness that rends heart cartilage like a chainsaw. It’s a jackhammer to the inner recesses of the soul. Recall the ache you feel when you’ve been away from your brothers for too long and the drive to be reunited and the resolution the moment you see them again. You could anticipate and count it down; work towards it. Now amplify that ache until every breath is like toxic fire and your chest physically locks up and feels like collapsing from the weight and you realise that ache can never be soothed in your lifetime. It hurts to the extent the loss doesn’t feel survivable. If love could have saved me, he would have lived forever.

There’s no resolution. Only the numbing nothingness their absence leaves you with when you go to bed. You can only wait for the promise of heaven and even with that hope, if you skip the airy theological bullshit and are honest with yourself, you have no tangible conception of what that looks like. That makes it less comforting than it probably should be. All you have left is faith. When all logic is stripped from you, you’re forced into the corner of faith where you have no control over the nightmare. Faith only offers the hope that your loss can be redeemed. Faith is the bridge between suffering and mercy.

I remember booking out early in a state of catatonic numbness to catch his cremation service at Mandai Crematorium. his aunt showed me the suicide note. Reading it, coupled with seeing his face stitched back together fractured my heart beyond repair. I remembered his note including that he wanted clubbing music played throughout the duration of his wake. I laughed perhaps the saddest laugh I’ve ever laughed, because that was so him. Even past the end. If he were still around he’d probably make some inappropriate pun joke about being forever 21. I remember how badly I broke down when his whole NDU company gave their loudest hooyah as his coffin moved towards the flames. I remember being on the bus back from the crematorium showing his father, with his tired strength, a photo of Trevor at MBS with the angel wings, months before he took his life. I regret that we never took any together, procrastinating like there’d be a next time. I’ve come to the conclusion that grief never really changes. You never “grow out of it”. Time never really heals it. You just sorta forget what it feels like not to be broken, until brokenness becomes the new norm you learn to walk through every day. It’s like the ocean; sometimes the waves are calm and rhythmic, and other days overwhelming, but always there. The only thing I can learn to do is swim until I’m outta strength.

It’s no secret by now that I’m uprooting myself from my hometown of Singapore and moving indefinitely for the long term. I’ve migrated so many times since 2001 when I first left Singapore, but this one feels different; it’ll be the first time I’ll be overseas by myself. Axing out my support networks and rebuilding afresh.

I am an emotional person, and despite my happy-go-lucky energetic demeanours, by default I’m a deeply sad, melancholic person. I’m usually numb to goodbyes (which is probably why I don’t want people to send me off at the airport because it feels disingenuous to me) but I can anticipate this will be a loss I may not fully face or grieve, although I think I would have in the past. This is an ending to a chapter in my life that will change my course, and looking back every time I relocated I thought I was coping the best I could, but I tried to get past it as quickly as possible, perhaps at the expense of truly going through it.

I tend to desensitise myself from the hysteria of such maudlin feelings, distracting myself with other things. Good things, like finding out what comes next and embarking on a new quest, knowing there has to be more where that came from. As well as not-so-good things, like trying to cling to connections like driftwood to aid treading waters and avoid drowning. I should have let go and trusted I would fall into an ocean of love and grace, but all I can see is a sea of sorrow and forgetfulness. But in all those feelings: sadness, regret, depression, even being suicidal, I didn’t feel alone.

These are two of many stories that I tell, not because they’re the perfect examples of the mourning beatitude that this post is about, but simply because they are intensely personal, and they are mine.

If you’ve read this far, you will have your own personal and painful stories of grief, the change/transition it brought, the wounds you carry, and the ever-ongoing healing process. At the end of the day, grief is different for everyone. And what makes pain so unbearable is the way it isolates us from one another with an innate hurdle to overcome in order to communicate it. We try to bring a crumb of comfort by saying things like “I know how you feel”, but even if we have been through a similar experience, those words are trite, untrue, and inauthentic. How can we possibly know how someone else feels? We can relate, but we can’t intimately know, because it’s so different for everyone. So maybe the best alternative we have is to join people in their sadness, loss, and/or rage.

And that is the God behind this beatitude. Compassion, broken into its Latin root words are “com” (meaning “together”) and “pati” (meaning “suffering”). Therefore, to “have compassion” just as Jesus did on the crowd that gathered to hear Him preach this very sermon, is to be willing to “suffer together” with people. This is the God of the Bible, the story of the One who hears the cry of the disillusioned, hurting, victimised, broken, lonely. God hears the blood of Abel crying out from holy ground. He goes to Sodom and Gomorrah personally to investigate the outcry that reached Him. He heard the groans of the Israelites in the misery of their slavery. Throughout Scripture, God hears the cry and draws close. The tears of the brokenhearted, downtrodden, crestfallen, vulnerable, are irresistible to His love. He is drawn like a magnetic force to their side.

Whenever i read “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted”, I automatically think about the loss/death of someone close, and we can’t bear to be apart from. This pain feels way to deep down in the soul to ever recover from. The grief that comes with that kind of loss, especially if far too premature (like Trevor, who was two weeks away from his 22nd birthday), is beyond words. But grief is also more than that.

The way we experience grief is as unique as our fingerprints. Whatever our grief may be, it’s not really about the experience of grief itself but the onset of the change it causes. Especially those transitory changes we don’t want to happen. There is a no-judgment zone when it comes to grief. There’s no grief that’s “worse than this one”. Whatever happened, whatever you’re facing, whatever curveball change that has derailed the track of your life, that is your grief. Comparison sends you down a path of the deepest darkness. You will always find someone better off and worse off than you.

This mourning beatitude is like a trumpet blast that opens its arms and welcomes us all in. Maybe you’ve been abused, raped, had a miscarriage or abortion, experienced divorce, separation, job firing, career-ending injury, had a terminal diagnosis, were sentenced after conviction, sent your child off to college (like my parents in a couple weeks) etc... things like these and more force us into surprising and unwanted transitions of some kind. Unexpected change shifts the course of our lives, and there’s grief in that.

We can also mourn what’s never been. For instance, maybe you were abandoned/orphaned at a young age and grew up without knowing your parents or had a facsimile of them, or perhaps through happenstance you were born into poverty or underprivileged/oppressed minority. We are missing something that would have been there for us had our circumstances been different, and locked deep inside us, there is a latent sadness awaiting to be unleashed. There is a river of sorrow flowing through all of us deeply, and if we knew how to access it any moment, we would all be sobbing messes and emotional wrecks.

This deep sorrow is not necessarily a negative thing. Quite the opposite, actually. It’s the sorrow of not being home or where we belong. The homesick sorrow. The Welsh have a word that has no direct English transliteration: “hiraeth”. The wistful sorrow of what our eyes have seen over the years. The question is whether we are going to be willing to access this deep river of sorrow and find it, befriend it, let its currents carry you through the season of grieving.

Many people at this point would ask me “why do we have to go there? It’s the past. It’s been done. It can't be erased.” Or perhaps a more modern pop culture reference: “no one can rewrite the stars”. My response would be: “because if you mourn, you will be comforted. Jesus promises that. The inference here is that if you don’t, you won’t be.” The flight from sorrow leads to the loss of hope, and the downward spiral from there usually implodes as self-destruction.

And fi you feel as though you don’t have a reason to mourn/deserve to mourn/want to mourn, the Greek word for “mourn” is pentheo. That’s the word Matthew uses here to describe that very beatitude. It refers to someone mourning the power of the wicked over the righteous. This is about the people who are at the bottom, the trapped and helpless and in anguishing despair because of it. This is about the person who works three jobs and still can’t make ends meet. This is about the single mother who can’t support her children even on welfare. It’s about the parents who read all the books and give their very best to a child who continues to make poor decisions. It’s about the misfit student who feels left out and misunderstood and mocked by classmates. It’s about the little girl who has been forced into prostitution. It’s about the boy who feels nobody can understand their pain and wants to jump off the 23rd storey of their HDB flat. It’s about me not knowing what the hell I’m doing relocating to Australia when I’ve established a decent social pillar of support here in Singapore and wondering if I’m making the wrong decision. God is the God of the suicidal as well. In other words, there isn’t any place in the human story you can look where you won’t find a little panther. This is about all of us when we’re helpless and alone, and rock bottom has caved in and we’re sinking further still.

Welcome to the upside down message of the Beatitudes, where we find out that in the emptiness of the void, when all hope seems lost, when it’s irreparably unfixable, when we are grieving the absence of righteousness and justice, when there is no joy... God is on our side.

So what does the second part of that verse, “comfort”, look like?

If you’re like me, I often tell myself “I’m trying to get rid of this grief but I can’t seem to do that. I’m trying to get past it but can’t.” The thing is, the more we ‘try’, the more we resist. The only way is to go through it. We have to feel it, headfirst and full on. And not only feel it, but have people around who sees us. The simple act of being seen unlocks permission to grieve.

It’s a hard thing, having your life so radically changed one day, and then the next day to see everyone else carrying on as if nothing happened. Does anybody see me? Does anybody care? These are still anxiety-spurring questions I deal with when I look ahead to my departure, from Singapore this month, as well as in the (hopefully distant) future, from this earth.

Maybe that’s the heart of pain. We long for a witness. We long for people to see what we’re going through. We long for someone to affirm our cataclysmic devastation. We weren’t hardwired to live alone. No man is an island. We were made for each other, and nothing separates us as quickly as pain we cannot relate to.

The first time I left Singapore in 2001, a month after 9/11, I stayed a couple months in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, before settling down in San Francisco, California for five years. One of the most famous landmarks is the Golden Gate Bridge. Or perhaps, infamous, because it’s the most renowned place in the world where people commit suicide. One side faces the Pacific Ocean, and the other faces the city. The majority of people who jump, jump from the city side. I wonder if they’re looking for witnesses. And it doesn’t take much imagination to hear their souls screaming “There is no one to comfort me” (much like Lamentations 1:21) as they commit to plunging over the edge.

There’s a village somewhere in the world where if someone dies, all the households in the village change something in their own yard or on their house that every night. The next day, when those who are mourning leave their house, they not only know for themselves that their world has changed, but see that the world has changed and that things will not be the same for everyone around them too. We should all have tradition. The most healing hee can offer is to let the pain of others disrupt us and our neat little schedules.

Shiva in the Jewish tradition is like this. It means seven in the Jewish language, and signifies the seven days of mourning after a close family member dies and is buried. The family commemorates by an act called “sitting shiva”, where they receive visitors into the bereaved home. It’s an ancient ritual dating back to what Joseph did in Genesis when his father Jacob died. The purpose of the visit is to offer comfort, and that comfort comes sometimes without words. It’s the gift of presence, seeing their grief with human eyes, and joining with them in it. It’s not just being there, it’s being present and in the moment.

This can unlock a piece of Jesus’ baffling announcement about comfort to those who mourn, because in our pain and in our grief, in the injustice of our situations, when we want answers in plain black and white, when we get angry and disenfranchised, when we are crying out for clarity and a way past this grief, when we are in the dark, deafening, lonely silence, we are offered presence, and God finds us in the places we are least likely to look. How often the expression is “Oh my God” when we see something good or evil. We intrinsically want answers. What is offered is the ministry of presence. Blessed are those who ache, for wherever they are, God is in their midst.

There’s more than one grief lurking beneath the surface, waiting to be awakened by another triggered changing of the seasons, or epoch transition. So while the wound is as vast as the sea and we mourn loved ones lost and/or the farewell of cherished places as we leave them behind, as we detach from careers ending, as we ache in the absence of something or someone we once had or we never had, we too, can grieve loss.

And just like in the grass in spring, the sunrise after the night, the thawing after the winter, we discover the invitation to carry on.

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