It was a relationship of odd pairings with Joe and me. He was a nonagenarian; a gay man who had a 64-year relationship with his life partner; a former modern dancer who studied under Doris Humphrey; a teacher to conductors and theater actors; a student of TM; an authentic Reiki practitioner and master; a mystic; a writer; a cultural connoisseur of the high arts; and a rare Spirit. At times he could be blunt and impatient, and would challenge my rational disposition with his somatic and intuitive sensibility. I would in turn take on his idealism to gain some pragmatic perspective. My shortcomings and gifts would meet his, and together something beautiful would emerge as this friendship.Our relationship grew slowly and organically. It was completely unexpected, and probably a teaching on to itself Joe would approve of. As he would say, “Be open to what's around the corner, Ted.” It was as if Joe found the mantra I needed. And I rarely experienced him not being open to taking that next turn. He always took an interest in those who would make themselves available to him, while generously giving himself in return. Many times I would go out with him, he would find an opportunity to make an opening quip to a stranger. He would jest, “I never know what is going to come out my mouth.” I knew what Joe meant by this is what came out was not always the point, but where it came from. Here I was with a 90-something year old man, who had remained positive with many age-related ailments, embracing the joys of life in a way that it would seemingly never end. He would explore the arts several times a week, stay on top of current events, write in an exalted state around some new teaching, meet attentively with students, host gatherings and salons at his home, reach out to international friends and travel to them, make dinner for company much younger than he, and always look out for his next creative endeavor. The edges in his corners were not always smooth, but he took them on as exemplary as you will find with anyone at his stage in life. I knew by knowing him, I had a good thing.
He always had these useful, yet nuanced aphorisms. When I inquired about how to go about a romantic interest I had with a woman, he would say, “Try going through the side door, instead of the front.” When I mentioned why he would be with his former spiritual teacher again: “There's always a deeper place to go... and to be.” And when we talked about the point to life: “It's always about love, and giving back.” And while we may mechanically toss that word around from time to time, with Joe you really sensed he was coming from that place. It's a resonance I can feel in this very moment.
“Only the lover can sing,” Augustine once said. I understand this more so now. There was always something musical about Joe. He had a melody that vibrated at a higher pitch and gave room for the spaces between the lines. His teachings sang his joy for life and the Eternal. He mostly lived them and delightfully made sure others were aware that he did. This included such gems as coming from a place of unknowingness in everyday experience, embodying a quality of seamless flow, and respecting his body as the envelope of past and present.
He used stories in his own life as lessons, drawing on a rich and amazingly sharp memory. With that, he encouraged me to get out of my comfort zone, experience the fine arts more, embrace life with passion and ease, and to care for my body with the authentic Reiki practice he once taught me. There was a simplicity (and sometimes repetitiveness) in the way he taught, allowing for the words to gently seep into the residual crustiness around my heart.
What I enjoyed the most about him is just his wholesome presence. You always felt like you were being seen with Joe. He allowed for the space to unfold and meet you. Simple as this seems, it is often in short supply these days. I would cherish the sweet times when we sat together, and allowed ourselves to improvise about life openly, playfully, and trustingly. There is a blessedness to these moments.
As he would often say: “Life is eternal spring.” (Note to Joe: Yes, and because you were in it.)
He loved life so much, he recently told me he never considered death all that much. Joe passed on Tuesday morning at the age of 97.
I am a better version of myself for having known him. And I miss him dearly.
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(I am grateful that my friend Jill Uchiyama has forever memorialized Joe in several Music of Life video teachings. In what I can't convey in words, comes through in these visual vignettes. I believe you'll see that my love for Joe and the quality of his essence is not hyperbole if you take the time to view these eight shorts: The Music of Life, The Conductor as Poet, The Quality of Seamlessness, Quest, Stillness, The Conductor as Architect, Clarity of Vision, and Life is Eternal Spring. There is also the Legacy documentary that spans his full and rich life.)