For Ace

Photo copyright Aji, 2016; all rights reserved.

I knew him as Ace. I learned today that he is gone . . . and with him, all the images he might have captured, all the stories his work might have told.

But that's a selfish take on tragedy. 

I didn't know him well, but I knew him well enough to appreciate the kind of person he was. Online, he supported posts and causes that were near and dear to my own heart. In his own posts, he gave me the great gift of images from lands near to and much like those of my own people — lands that, for me, exist now only in memory, lands that I know I am unlikely ever to see in person again. Through his eyes and his lens, I was able to revisit the sort of lakes and rivers, woods and trails, lush trees and delicate creatures that spoke the word "home" to my spirit. And his love and respect for all of them, from the greatest lake to the smallest stream, the most towering maple to the tiniest insect upon a desiccated leaf, shone through with clarity and honesty.

I don't have anything approaching his talent. But somehow, this is the image that comes to mind, and I think he might have appreciated it, as amateurish as it might be: a pond turned cornflower blue by the kiss of the sky; arising out of it, a willow branch turned bridge; crossing the bridge and reflected clearly in the blue, two tiny modest spirits of a sort unloved by most of the world, yet with their own role to play, and, up close, their own special beauty.

Ace had, on rare occasion, opened up a bit about the battles he fought. They broke my heart and sparked a flame of recognition in my own soul — not identical, but similar enough for me to feel what he wanted to communicate, and the pain in the gulf between. He is crossing a different sort of gulf now. In our way, he will be crossing his own bridge, the one to the other world — indeed, in our way, he would likely already be there, journey complete, ready to enjoy what exists beyond our current reach. To the spirits who hold the powers of the universe, we must look, I suppose, very much like these small flies, so vulnerable . . . and yet, we, too, eventually reach the other side.

Rest in peace and power, Ace. I am grateful for the gift of your presence here for the time that was yours in this world, and wish you the gift of beauty and wonder and joy and love in the world across that bridge.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2016; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.