My girl put on a movie for us - Nothing Left Unsaid - this quietly tumultuous Sunday. She has this innate sense of depth that is beyond any ocean I have ever sailed upon. Her dark beauty of mind, body, and soul that is simple in its complexity and steps forth to me already behind any walls I have raised about the keep of my castle self.
And there buried in the movie, a poignant tour de force, the Rolling Stones song that always wrecks me, far more than "Out of Time (from yet another movie soundtrack). But until now, only did so in the most private way. And never in such a backdrop. Who would have thought I could relate to the losses and regrets (and art) of Gloria Vanderbilt, and yes, even her youngest son, Anderson Cooper.
There are parallels here. A tightrope in crossing through life, perhaps. Her reflection that once you realize life is a tragedy, you can begin to live your life seems telling.
Someone once told me there are stages to grief, and wondered that I wasn't traveling through them in a timely manner after my brother passed. That approach confused me. By the time my Mom passed eighteen years later, I had finally figured out that grief doesn't care what stage you're in. It always has an undefinable intensity that you are either sharply aware of or that you have muted for a time, to do other things that life asks of you. You change in how you handle it, but it doesn't change.
Such a story, hopefully enough to overcome the shallow sense that would question how a "poor little rich girl" could be just as human in her losses and regrets as the anyone else. And more so in her expression of it in words, and most definitely in her art. This honest film has an undefinable intensity that you need to see if you subscribe to having a human heart.
And there buried in the movie, a poignant tour de force, the Rolling Stones song that always wrecks me, far more than "Out of Time (from yet another movie soundtrack). But until now, only did so in the most private way. And never in such a backdrop. Who would have thought I could relate to the losses and regrets (and art) of Gloria Vanderbilt, and yes, even her youngest son, Anderson Cooper.
There are parallels here. A tightrope in crossing through life, perhaps. Her reflection that once you realize life is a tragedy, you can begin to live your life seems telling.
Someone once told me there are stages to grief, and wondered that I wasn't traveling through them in a timely manner after my brother passed. That approach confused me. By the time my Mom passed eighteen years later, I had finally figured out that grief doesn't care what stage you're in. It always has an undefinable intensity that you are either sharply aware of or that you have muted for a time, to do other things that life asks of you. You change in how you handle it, but it doesn't change.
Such a story, hopefully enough to overcome the shallow sense that would question how a "poor little rich girl" could be just as human in her losses and regrets as the anyone else. And more so in her expression of it in words, and most definitely in her art. This honest film has an undefinable intensity that you need to see if you subscribe to having a human heart.