他是鏡中人，也是明鏡 紀念Michael Jackson

 

來源：http://blog.sina.com.cn/angelofplanetearth

 

 

Michael: Thank you for the mirror-more thoughts about Michael and This is it
邁克爾,

為鏡子感謝你 - 關於邁克爾和《就是這樣》的更多思考
文/Barbara Kaufmann
翻譯/shell88

在一些人一去不返時，我才再一次因為從前沒有好好地欣賞他們而感到羞愧。對邁克爾·傑克遜（Michael Jackson），我就是這樣。現在我稱呼他的名字，是因為瞭解了他的為人——只在他去世和看了他的電影《就是這樣》（This Is It）之後。
最終我理解了邁克爾這個人，既作為人類和富有創造力的天才。我看到了他對人類和這個星球難以置信的愛……都來自于這個非凡的人。
當你聆聽到他的歌詞，就知道他是什麼樣的人……
“治癒世界，
使它成為更好的地方
為你、為我、為整個人類。
不斷有人死去，
如果你真心關愛生者，
營造一點空間，
使它成為更好的地方”
“當他們問為什麼，為什麼？告訴他們這就是人性。
為什麼，為什麼這樣對待我？”
“我從鏡中人開始，
我要求他作出改變，
沒有比這更清楚的資訊，
如果你想使世界成為更好的地方，
反省自己，作出改變。”

看完電影后，我坐在停車場，哭泣了近一個小時。不知道為什麼，我不由自主地流淚。我不想電影結束，不想離開，不想遺漏這種魔力，我不願他離開。

我最後意識到這是謝幕演出，再也沒有機會與他在一起——去消除懷疑，去得到原諒。我因為悲傷而不能移動——我曾背叛他、忽視他、驅趕他、質問他，懷疑他。我的眼淚是因為……這太過分了。隨著他的離去，這個世界失去了一些難以言表的、難以描述的東西，失去了一些光明的東西。因為邁克爾有許多愛。因為我感受到他的孤獨、他的脆弱。但最深的是，我為這世界失去一道光亮而悲傷。我現在仍然在悲傷。

我過去總疑惑邁克爾是否犯了那些被控告的罪。我為自己的感覺而煩惱，如果控告是真的我會反感。我是說如果。你知道，我隨著傑克遜五的音樂長大，而我的孩子隨著邁克爾的音樂長大。如果邁克爾是有罪的，我感到這將是對我和對我的孩子的背叛。當他最後被宣佈無罪時我感到高興，但不是每個人都相信他是清白無辜的。我承認，在我意識深處的小角落，我還是疑惑。控告帶來懷疑。

看了《就是這樣》，我現在知道了真相。邁克爾從未有意傷害任何人。我看到他對樂隊中的音樂家難以置信的友善，他要求音樂總監要求作到完美時說“讓我們作好它”，他盡力使人愉快。我看到他事必躬親，對歌者、音樂家、舞者無限的耐心，他們一起工作使演出盡善盡美。我聽到人們對他說話時屈尊俯就的語氣，而他還以親切和耐心。我聽到邁克爾作為領導者、指導者和大師，用比喻來使他們領會他的意圖。我聽到邁克爾作為導師，要求他們分享激情、讓天賦閃亮。我看到他的手勢表達著言語所不能及，我看著溫柔和天才在他的姿態和手勢中閃現。

邁克爾被上百萬人熱愛和崇拜——歌迷和朋友們。這種愛和一種藝術家之間的讚賞在那些觀看他彩排的《就是這樣》演唱會演職人員和工作人員中閃耀著。邁克爾在彩排，也在傳授。他絕對的清澈令人震驚。他對超驗、神秘、創造性張力的理解，尤其是對魔術和隱喻的應用，把人們帶到超越平凡的地方，通過情感的隧道，到達從未到過和想像過的地方，他是那樣天才。我們每個人的深處某個地方都有一種天分，但習俗、傳統、條件和文化的界限阻擋了我們到達那樣的高處。他在表演中的清澈和引領是一種謙遜的完美。

 

由於早年成名和財務上的成功，他沒有我們平常人那種困于日常謀生、磨損了想像的壓力，他的想像力和創造力可以盡情發揮。邁克爾很早就開始了演藝生涯，他的童年與眾不同。帶著天賦，他在廣闊世界中盡情耕耘，到達奇跡和創造的王國。沒有平常界限的生活帶來巨大的靈感和雄心，也帶來了痛苦、背叛和被誤解的折磨。邁克爾超越了極限，他無情地、努力地超越著。他是演出者、商人和天才。他的作品充滿了巨大的天才，尤其是他的演唱會，是超越體驗的。 “超驗”帶我們超越自我，帶我們和整個世界到更高處，我們變得更加充實了。邁克爾把這些可能展現給我們，因而被熱愛著。他是鏡中人，也是為我們展示鏡中景象的人。

我一直喜愛他的舞蹈，但疑惑一些舞蹈中性的“超諷”。目睹他的創造過程後，我現在明白了，那來自搖擺的激情，不是因為他想要或必須，而是因為那來自他本身，通過身體顯現。邁克爾音樂中逼人的鼓點，驅使身體移動、旋轉、跳躍，吼叫和扭擺。能量聚集在下腹和太陽經，因為它來源於“激情的主宰”。強烈的激情，它就是純粹熱情的語言。北印度語中有一個詞，用來命名這種熱情的扭擺，來自於人身體某處的基本能量，此處精神和物質、身體和靈魂相結合。這是能量的孕育，力量的產生和強烈釋放—產生創造、成為創造。衝動的能量不斷升溫，從下腹和太陽經沿著脊骨上升。這是昆達利尼（Kundalini）力量、生命之液所在， 是很有爆發力的。就象高潮一樣，創造的能量沿著脊骨上傳身體的震波。顯然邁克爾在音樂中體會到這些，它通過他和他的身體在音樂中爆發。

 

《就是這樣》留給我的問題：
你怎麼應對世界上千萬人愛著你但你卻不能出門的矛盾？你過著怎樣的生活？不能在百貨商店的走廊中推著購物車；當你的CD打折時不能去音像店；不能去看棒球賽；從未獨自一人，但卻非常非常孤獨？你怎樣將孤獨感傾注於作品中？當你與人交往時，如何分辨他是真心對你還是利用你的名氣？你怎能如此羞澀，卻又這麼才華橫溢？當音樂縈繞心中時你怎能從不拒絕表達出來？你怎能數小時排練至精疲力竭，因為你必須把創作的天才與世界分享？你怎能在這個滿是陰暗的世界上屹立成超級巨星？你怎樣不停寫作，歌頌光明，或批判黑暗？當黑暗要毀滅你時你是如何生存下來的？我現在明白了，那是一個召喚——沒有人能夠抗拒它，因為被它徹底征服了。是的，邁克爾受到了召喚，看看他的歌詞吧——大部分都是祈願。

你是如何無遮攔地生活在公眾目光之下？對一些人來說你就是一切，而另一些人對你永遠也不滿意。你是如何在“公眾審視”之下堅定前行，而不甘於作投機取巧者的活靶子？你如何忍受無德的利用者、無休止的誹謗，將你的意識、你的世界根本無法想像的罪名強加於你？你怎能隔日出現在法庭上，去聽他們責難你、撕扯你、毀滅你？你怎能從床上起身、換掉睡衣? 你愛著孩子們是因為他們的奇妙和天真，然而當你被宣判無罪而仍然被指責，你怎麼辦？當有人騙取你的信任，把好的東西剪輯掉，把剩下的小報謠言匯成片子稱為記錄片，這樣你怎能再去信任？法律系統的瘋狗思維執意要毀滅你，你是如何生存下來的？這一系統本來不是應該保護你的嗎？你是如何收拾起不經意地轉身中那些生命的碎片？在其中和其後，你是如何為了生命而展現？

也許你可以成為一個隱士，尋找一些東西去鈍化痛苦，讓殘忍和疲憊走開。也許暫時不理會這個世界。或許找一、兩個醫生幫助你緩解傷痛、試圖治癒自己。那被貪婪者吞噬的肉體碎片，還能修補嗎？傷口有多深？深達靈魂或只是深至骨髓？

你怎樣忍受著長久的侮辱、誹謗和謊言？太多太多，太痛苦，以至於要麻木了。你是如何做到沒讓這些使你的心靈變得堅硬？你是如何忍受那些關於你容貌的閒言碎語？哦，那是你用來向世界表達情感的臉。你如何忍受損耗你身體的紅斑狼瘡和破壞容貌的白癜風？那是你得向世界展現，賴以謀生的臉啊。你得在傘下生活，因為陽光會使你的皮膚白斑加重。你盡力與疾病鬥爭，接受必要的治療，但治療使你膚色更蒼白。你是如何應對那些刺痛你的成堆的嘲笑、惡意的評論？你是如何度過不能在陽光下海灘嬉戲的生活？多麼希望，“我們”曾經愛著和接受本來的你，我希望我們曾在意念中擁抱你和你的臉。但世界對於瑕疵和不完美是那麼不友善。但你知道這點，對嗎？作為完美主義者和藝術家，你改變自己的外表。你總是同情那些受壓迫的、殘疾的、外形醜陋的人，你比我們任何人更多靠近他們。這些你卻從未告訴我們。

你如何向這個已經偏離、不再純真的世界解釋，孩子們喜歡粘著你是因為你是一個傳奇？一個超越生命、在童年和青春期的絕望中帶來希望、帶給他們難以言表的激勵的人？是的，他們在你身上看到彼得·潘，他們因此愛你，樂於接近你，因為你體現了無所畏懼的歡樂和奇跡，而這些正是他們感覺正從自己身上溜走的。這個長大的世界失去了單純“相信”的那種無邪。你如何解釋，孩子們躑躅著，執著於一些縹緲的、無法定義的東西？而你知道那是什麼，並希望他們能擁有它更長久一些。你如何解釋，他們開始發現如果放棄你（更多你所代表的東西），就不得不面對一個絕望的現實：人們並不太關心這個世界和它存在的方式。
我們是否離被遺忘的童年太遠了呢？

你怎樣不具名地支付孩子們的假肢、移植，不知在哪個醫院，不知在哪個國家，同時承受著“傷害兒童”的誣告？你怎樣承受著那些尖刻的咒駡？那些人沒聽到你是無罪的。或是由於他們自身的陰暗而聽不到。你永遠不可能傷害小孩子，因為你自己就是魔力和奇跡的“孩童”的體現，我們所有人有時不得不承受灼痛和撕裂的傷口，那失去的純真。你的純真是那樣非凡以至於他們要來毀滅它？那麼多黑暗能掩蓋你的光輝嗎？你怎能再回到夢幻莊園？我猜你不會回去了。

邁克爾，你是離世的、隱藏的。富有創造力的天才經常如此。你按自己的節奏前進，因為不喜歡這個星球的拍子，這個你降生的星球。你是活的彼得潘，因為這個世界不是適合你生活的地方，在這裏你脆弱的靈魂不能得到滋養或茁壯。彼得·潘比真實的世界擁有更健全的心智，直至最後一刻，你仍然努力想把世界變成更好的地方。轉身避開這個不理解你的世界是多麼容易啊，這是可以理解，甚至是可預料的。但你是一直是創造意外的大師。你是怎麼做到，仍然繼續關愛著這個世界？

邁克爾·傑克遜真是一個被低估的矛盾體，但在他最後的演出中很明顯。他的謙遜、澄澈、不擺架子、從不自大的人格，與他撼動世界的時刻相“矛盾”，他的羞澀與巨星身份形成反差。在《就是這樣》中，這是真正的邁克爾——一個矛盾體，一份榮耀。假如邁克爾未曾真正理解：來自意識的黑暗能量無法與真正的純真無邪相容，那又會怎樣？創造性或創造衝動？這個世界未能好好欣賞他這個令人驚奇的禮物——既是獅子又是羔羊。是的，世界把又一隻羔羊釘上十字架，而他卻曾是照亮世界的光芒。再一次的，也許邁克爾知道這一點，最終，他唱著“人性”。

也許直到現在我們在瞭解他，直到他的離去，直到《就是這樣》。如果他還在，我將不會遇到真正的邁克爾，不會去瞭解他。我將不會看到天才、創造力的脈動、引領中的澄澈、對神聖力量和責任的擁有，他知道自己擁有這些。我將不會瞭解到音樂中的邁克爾和邁克爾中的音樂。我不敢想多少次這個男人站出來，不知道自己的回歸將會引發厭惡還是愛。但他最終回到舞臺——他願意給我們和世界另一個機會。這本來將把他帶回給我們，也把我們帶回給他，這是我能肯定的。世界是否能欣賞這一冒險中的度量，這一禮物？我們不知道。至少，他從未放棄世界，和我們。

我在想誰能承接他的角色——不是“流行音樂之王”，而是世界的啦啦隊長和人道主義者。他說什麼語言？他怎樣得到全世界的關注？邁克爾講的是音樂的語言，他說過他能觸及大眾。由於他廣受愛戴，他能動員軍隊、聚集人群、以最不同尋常的、最壯觀的方式創造故事。他是帶著使命的人，由於他是這樣的人，他能指引上百萬的聽眾。他使用音樂——最流行最通用的語言來傳揚他的資訊。他爭取了最合適的聽眾——年輕人。他明白年輕人是未來和世界的希望，他的資訊是拯救世界、關愛兒童及天下一家。他的資訊能向全球一代又一代的人們廣為傳遞，誰能作到這些？在內心深處我們知道，再也不會有另一個邁克爾。我們、這個世界沒有好好珍惜他。事實上，我們對他不太好。現在，他離開了。

看著這電影，這些邁克爾本來無意發行的東西，使我感覺好像一個偷窺者，看著一個男人將他的靈魂展露給審判。我感覺入侵了一個神聖的地方，但我為此而感激。我現在瞭解了一個叫邁克爾的男人的靈魂。他喜歡巨大的東西。我一直愛他的天才，但沒有愛這個人，這是不夠的。

我從邁克爾得到的最後禮物是意識到：《鏡中人》必是我的最愛歌曲，它甚至包含比甘地的“要想改變世界，就先改變自己”更深的資訊。這個星球上有些人更早地、更長時間地看到了他的光芒，他們從未懷疑，因為他們必然是在邁克爾身上看到了自己光芒的投射。就像有些人看到的是他們自身陰暗的投射。真不希望是這樣，以他的離去為代價，才使我看到邁克爾·傑克遜身上的光芒。我的明鏡，我未曾像他愛我一樣愛他。

Michael: Thank You for the Mirror- more thoughts about Michael and "This Is It"

 

Once again I stand guilty of not appreciating someone enough until they are gone never to return. And so it is with Michael. I call him by his first name now because I know him personally—but only so after his passing and only after seeing his movie “This is It.”

I finally understand Michael the man, both the human being and the creative genius, and I see the incredibly wide love for people and the planet… that came from this singular figure.

One listen to the lyrics of his songs will tell what the man was made of…


“Heal the World
Make it a better place
For you and for me and the entire human race.
There are people dying
If you care enough for the living
Make a little space
Make a better place.”


“When they say why, why? Tell ‘em that it’s human nature.
Why, why do you do me this way?”


“I'm starting with the man in the mirror
I'm asking him to change his ways
And no message could have been any clearer
If you wanna make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself and then make a change.”


I sat in the parking lot and cried for most of an hour after leaving the movie. I didn't know why. The tears were not voluntary. In the theatre I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want the magic to leak away. I didn’t want him to be gone.


I felt the finality of that curtain call and realized that I couldn’t have another chance with him—to rescind my doubt. I wanted forgiveness for ever having it. I felt immobile with sadness—in betraying him, in overlooking him, in dismissing him, in questioning him, in doubting him. The tears were because... there are no do overs. Because the world lost something un-named and un-namable with his passing. Because it was something bright. Because Michael held so much love. Because I felt his loneliness. His vulnerability. But mostly I grieved for the light gone out in the world. I still do.


I had always wondered if Michael was guilty of the things people accused him of doing. I had agonized over my own feelings, my own revulsion if the accusations were true. Over the what ifs. You see, I grew up with the Jackson 5 and my children gew up with Michael's music. I felt if Michael was guilty it would be a personal betrayal and a betrayal of my children. I rejoiced when he was finally found “not guilty” but not everyone accepted his innocence and I confess, in the back of my mind in a little corner, I always wondered. Accusation does that- creates doubt.


After seeing “This is It” I now know the truth. Michael Jackson never deliberately hurt anybody. Ever. I didn’t miss his incredible kindness to musicians in his band; his “we’ll get it done” assurance to his musical director who wanted his contribution to be perfect because it was, after all, Michael Jackson he was trying to please. I saw his infinite patience with the singers, musicians and dancers as he worked hands on with them to polish their performances. I heard the patronizing tones in the voices of people addressing him and his gracious and patient replies. I heard Michael the leader, teacher and master who used metaphor to help them feel his intentions. I heard Michael the guru who urged them to share the spotlight and shine with their own talent. I saw his hands say what his words could not and I watched the tender and not so tender genius in those gestures and those hands.

Michael was beloved and adored by millions-- fans and friends. That love and a kind of artist-to-artist admiration beamed from the sparse audience that made up his cast and crew for the concert tour that was to be "This is It." Michael was teaching them as well as rehearsing. His absolute clarity was stunning. His understanding of transcendentalism, mystery, creative tension and especially using magic and metaphor to take people to places beyond ordinary awareness and through the tunnel of emotion-- to a place they had never been and never imagined was genius. All of us have that talent somewhere inside us but convention, tradition, condition and cultural boundaries can prevent us from going there. Performance anxiety runs much deeper than stage fright. His clarity in performance and leadership was humble perfection.

Because of his early recognition and financial success, very few of the limits and demands of everyday life that press upon us and drain juice from our imagination, wonder and creative impulse touched Michael. Michael's stardom began very early in life; his childhood was anything but average. And with his talent, he cultivated unrestricted access to most of the world and certainly to the creative realm of wonder and invention. Living most of his life without healthy boundaries brought great aspirations and ambition but also intense pain, betrayed trust and the anguish of being constantly misunderstood.

Michael pushed the envelope; he pushed relentlessly and hard. He was showman, businessman and genius. The grand genius of his works, and especially his concerts were the transcendental experiences. "Transendental" takes us somewhere else beyond the personal self, to a place where the self and the world become something more and we become something more. Michael was loved for what he showed us was possible. He was the man in the mirror and the one holding it up for us to look. Are we all so far out from childhood that we don’t remember?

How do you pay for children’s’ artificial limbs and transplants in an unknown act in an unknown hospital in an unknown country meanwhile bearing an accusation of deliberately causing harm to children? How do you navigate the vitriolic damnation of some who haven’t heard you were found not guilty? Or couldn’t hear it because of their own shadow? When it would never occur to you to hurt a little boy because you, yourself conspire to always embody the magic and wonder for the "boy" in all of them and for the sake of all of them? We all have to bear sometime that one searing and rending wound, the loss of innocence. Was your innocence so great that it took that to destroy it? Did it require that much shadow to cover the light that you were? How do you ever return to Neverland? I guess you don’t.

I always loved his dancing but wondered why the sexual “beyond innuendo” in some of it. Watching him in the act of creation—I now understand that it comes from the passion of someone who “rocks it” not because he wanted to or had to but because that was what came through him, through his body. The driving beat of Michael’s music carries an intensity that demands the body move, gyrate, leap, growl and grind. The intensity centers in the groin and solar plexus because it comes from the “seat of emotion.” Intensely emotional, it is the language of pure passion. Hindis have a name for that passionate grinding, grounding energy that rises from the place in the human body where spirit meets matter, where physicality meets soul. It’s the energy of gestation, birth, genesis, of force and forceful release—that rises into and becomes creation. It’s the impulse energy that rushes hot and upward along the backbone from the groin and solar plexus. It is the place of the Kundalini force, the juice of life. And it’s explosive. Like orgasm, that creation energy sends waves of physical earthquakes up the backbone. It is obvious that Michael felt it in his music; it exploded through the music, through him and through his body.


“This is It” left me with some questions:


How do you live with the paradox that millions of people around the world love you but you cannot leave your home? How do you never push a cart down the aisle in a grocery store? Never enter a music store where your recordings are on sale? Never go to a baseball game, a parade, a zoo or picnic in a park with your children? How do you never be left alone yet be so very, very alone? How do you write so well of loneliness? And when you’re with people, how do you sort out if someone is being authentic with you or playing to your public persona? How do you be so painfully shy and have such massive talent that it cannot be contained? How do you never say no when and because the music hounds and haunts until it comes through you? How do you rehearse for hours to exhaustion because you can’t NOT share the bigness of your creative genius with the world? How do you stand up and be a superstar in a world with so much shadow? How do you keep writing lines that highlight or attack that shadow? How do you survive when the shadow turns on you? I understand now it was a calling—the kind that no one could turn their back on because it possesses them. Oh yes, Michael was called. Look at his lyrics—most of them are prayer.


And how do you live so naked in public light knowing that for some, you are everything and for others, you will never be enough? How do you remain steadfast in the the beacon called “public scrutiny” allowing yourself to be a larger than life target for opportunists? How do you bear continuing vilification perpetuated by unscrupulous exploiters when the unthinkable accusation doesn’t even live in your consciousness, your world? How do you come to show up for court another day to listen to them excoriate you, shred your very personhood, destroy who you are being? How do you get out of bed? Out of your pajamas? How do you reconcile being accused alone even if found “not guilty” of unspeakable acts to children when you have always loved children because of their wonder, their innocence? How do you trust ever again after someone gained your confidence and left the best part of you on the cutting room floor and called the remainder tabloid film a documentary of your life? How do you survive a mad dog mentality in the legal system bent on destroying you? The very system that is supposed to protect you? How then do you gather up the carelessly flung about pieces of your life? And in the midst of it, or in its aftermath, how do you even show up for life?

Maybe you become a recluse and look for something to dull the pain and make the brutality and exhaustion go away. Maybe to make the world go away for awhile. Maybe you even find a doctor or two who will give a little something that helps to ease your woundedness while you try to heal yourself. Can the missing chunks of flesh chewed by those who wanted a pound, be patched? How deep is the wound? Weary soul deep or just weary bone deep?

How do you bear a lifetime of insults, slurs and lies too many to address and too tormenting to allow inside because it would paralyze you? How do you not let it harden your heart? How do you bear comments about your face? My god, your face! The only thing you can be in, express to the world, telegraph your emotions with. How do you live with Lupus, a disease that wants to consume your body and Vitiligo, a disease that mars your face? The face that presents you to the world, the face you make a living with? How do you live under umbrellas because the sun makes the blotching of your skin that much worse? When you do the best you can with the laser treatments that are necessary but that make your skin appear bleached and whiter? Now that the disease has left you with more white than black skin in large blotches, and the doctors have avised that the best treatment is to zap the dark skin with lasers to even it out, how do you bear the accusations that you have become a trader to your race? How do you then navigate being the butt of thousands of jokes and unkind remarks that impale you? How do you survive without one single day in the sun romping at the beach? I wish "we" could have loved and accepted you just the way you were. I wish we could have cradled you and your face with our minds. But the world is not kind to blemish and imperfection. But you knew that didn't you Michael? Being the perfectionist and artist you were, you kept changing your face. You always empathized with the dowtrodden, disabled and disfigured-- you were closer to them than any of us knew. You hid it from us so well.

How do you explain to a world that is too far gone and will never be innocent enough again to understand that boys loved to hang out with you because you are a legend? A bigger than life greatness that gives them hope in the descending despair of childhood and adolescence, a someone who gives them something undefined to aspire to? That, yes, they see the Peter Pan in you, love you because of it, and want to be close to you because you embody that unabashed joy and wonder that they feel slipping from them. The thing that the world-in-becoming-grown up lost when it lost the innocence of simple “believing?” How do you explain that boys are hanging out to hang onto something so gossamer that it can't be defined? But you too, know what it is and want them to have it just a little longer. How do you explain that they are beginning to discover that if they let go of you, (more what you represent) they will have to confront the despairing reality that they don’t care much for this world the way it is either.

Oh, yes you were eccentric, Michael. And sheltered. Creative geniuses usually are. Yes, you marched to your own drummer. Only because you didn’t like the beat or the vibe of this planet, the one you landed on at birth. Yes, you were Peter Pan in the flesh but only because the world was not a place where you could live, where your fragile spirit could be nourished or thrive. Peter Pan held more sanity than the real world. Yet up until the very end, you were still trying to make it a better place! It would have been so much easier to turn your back on a world that didn’t understand you. It would have been understandable. Even expected. But then you always were a master of the unexpected. How is it, Michael that you could or would continue to care?

That Michael Jackson was truly a contradiction is understated but evident in his last appearance. His humility, clarity, unassuming and egoless private persona certainly “contradicts” the moments he “rocks it.” His shyness contradicts his superstar status. In “This is It,” Michael is truly being Michael— the contradiction. The glory. What if that Michael truly never understood the dark energies that come from minds that cannot comprehend true innocence and genuine naiveté? The creative or creation impulse? What an incredible gift to the world yet the world didn’t appreciate him well—both lion and lamb. Yes,the world crucified yet another of our lambs who was a (oh yes he was!) light unto the world. And then again, perhaps Michael did understand. He sang, after all, about “human nature.”


And maybe we never knew him until now. Until he was gone. Until “This is It.” Were he still here, I would not have met the real Michael. I would not have known him. I would not have seen the genius, the creative impulse, the clarity of leadership, the ownership of the awesome power and responsibility that he knew he held. I would not have known the Michael in the Music as well as the music in Michael. I wince when I think about the number of times the man put himself out there not knowing if what would return would be revulsion or love. And yet he was staging a comeback—he was willing to give the world and us another chance. And it would have brought him back to us and us back to him; of that I am sure. Would the world have appreciated that magnanimity of the risk, the gift? We will never know. At least he never gave up on the world. On us.

I wonder who now will take over his role-- not as the "King of Pop" but as the world's cheerleader and hummanitarian? What language will she speak? How will he get the world's attention? Michael spoke in the language of music. It was because of the language he spoke that he was able to reach the masses. Because he was so widely beloved, Michael was able to mobilize forces, bring people together, and create story in the most unusual and spectacular ways. He was a man with a mission and because of who he was, he was able to command audiences of millions. He used music- a popular and universal language to trumpet his message. He used it to reach just the right audience- youth. Michael understood that young people hold the hope for the future and the world. And his message was about healing the world, caring for children and that "we are one." He was able to spread it universally to many generations and peoples around the globe. Who now is capable of that? We know in a quiet and secret place that there will never be another Michael. We, the world, didn't cherish him enough, in fact we didn't treat him very well and now he is gone.

Watching the movie, something Michael never intended for release, made me feel a little like a voyeur watching a man preparing to expose his soul to judgment. I felt like I had trespassed into sacred space. But I am grateful for it. I feel like I now know the soul of this man called Michael. He loved big. Oh, I always loved his talent, but I didn’t love Michael, the man. It wasn't enough.


And my final gift from Michael is the realization that “Man in the Mirror” which has to be my favorite song, has an even deeper message than “be the change you wish to see in the world” of Gandhi. There are some people on this planet who saw his light earlier, longer and who never doubted because they had to have seen in Michael, the reflection of their own light. Just like those to whom he reflected their darkest shadow. I wish it hadn’t taken his death to bring me the bright light that was Michael Jackson and the mirror of mine. I just didn't love him as much as he loved me.

(c) ~ Barbara Kaufmann 2009 and beyond