Sometimes the Universe provides a moment so perfectly timed it leaves us in a state of awe, wondering if something—or someone—is attempting to communicate. In June of this year, my friends and I had an experience at the Telluride Bluegrass Festival that I would describe as a spiritual awakening, something beyond this physical world. An experience of deep connection. It inspired me to create a drawing (at the end of this writing), and my friend, who was with us, provided the perfect words to express the experience.
Written by John W. Sammon III:
The Telluride Bluegrass Festival resides high up the peaks of the San Juan Mountains. By day, radiant colors of blues and greens accompany the transcendent ambiance of musical celebration, joy, peace, and gratitude. This past year we gathered beneath a sky so clear and beautiful it seemed impossible that sorrow could exist anywhere underneath it. Yet sorrow was among us.
We had come once again for world-class entertainment and camaraderie, but this year without our friend Steve. And we were all feeling it.
On the third day we found a free “pop-up” show performance by Andy Falco and Travis Book entitled The Acoustic Music of Jerry Garcia. And so, taking a break from the fairgrounds, we ambled over to little Elks Park for a change of scenery.
We sat in a loose circle on camp chairs and blankets, old friends growing older together, passing around stories while the sun reflected off the peaks of snow, pines, and aspens. The two acoustic musicians stood on a small riser under a shade tent and launched into the familiar beginning notes of Black Peter – a classic Hunter /Garcia composition from 1970.
Immediately my heart sank, my stomach turned, and tears filled my eyes. I looked over at my sister, and she was already there too. I scanned the crew; we were all there.
Black Peter is a deeply soulful song told from the perspective of a man upon his deathbed.
The opening words….
“All of Friends come to see me last night. I was laying in my bed and dying…. “
We had all recently learned what a cruel thief the disease ALS is as we sat by Steve for several months watching our beloved friend wither away. Throughout the previous fall and winter, we all came to see Steve, and we all knew that he was dying bit by bit every day.
It was all too real and yet so beautiful in a way as the poignant song gently unfolded upon us. None of us spoke; we just listened, and cried, and put our arms around each other.
Towards the middle of the song, a raven flew into view and circled the scene once before resting upon a pole overlooking our scene. We sat there in astonishment, watching through tear-filled eyes.
Steve had programmed a Grateful Dead radio show every Thursday night for years. Steve’s self-proclaimed nom de plume/persona for his show was “The Raven.”
And if this is not too much of a coincidence, the significance of the raven in poetry and art is “a symbol of unending grief most often associated with the inescapable memory of a lost loved one.”
The Universe will speak to us all from time to time if we take note. And if we are lucky enough, the Universe may send our missing loved ones back to us.
However, this was the first time I ever heard the Universe sing. God, I hope it’s not the last.
The ending lyrics of Black Peter….
“See here how everything leads up to this day. And it’s just like any other day that’s ever been. Sun going up and the sun it’s going down. Shine through my window, and my friends all come around, come around. Come around.
Now let’s go run and see.”
Thank you, John, for your words, capturing this moment perfectly. Thank you to my other friends who were there, sharing this experience. And thank you, Steve, who showed up that day to remind us he’s alright. Miss you, my friend.