John ONeill

I remember John not only as a wonderful brother-in-law, friend, spiritual advisor, artist/designer, magician, and philosopher, but also as a fellow music freak, someone who brought music to groups spontaneously (didgeridoo, pan pipes, drums) and could discern emotional nuances through melody, rhythm, and sonic saturation. In conversations, he knew how to riff, ever-responsive to other people's thoughts, flights of fancy, moods, and humor. He seemed to know intuitively how to bring out the best in people and generate a festive, joyful energy at the table, in the neighborhood, and well beyond. I loved this about John, this playful, improvisational spirit. Conjuring up this memory heartens me because I see an opportunity to keep his legacy alive by emulating his approach to people, community, and art. The first time I visited Lisa and John in New Mexico was, sadly, the last time I saw John, but I am glad that every day was fully of merriment and favorite routines that I had come to eagerly anticipate over the years, such as dining al fresco, enjoying Lisa's culinary works of art and the generous pours of wine, being serenaded post-meal by John's pan pipes (which always made me giggle a bit, even though such gentle little songs seemed to require attentive solemnity), and having cheeky little Romeo join us at the indoor dining table and perform his tricks for treats. Music. John and I both liked trance/house music, but when it came to Pink Floyd, his all-time favorite band, I was close-minded, not wanting to enter the dark and scary state of mind the songs beckoned. But on my last visit, the topic of Pink Floyd came up again-I think John was talking about the emotional power of their live performances-and he asked me, if I had to choose, which song was my favorite. I knew instantly, as there was only one: "Learning to Fly." I loved that song because it transported me to a more hopeful, profound state of being; it was heavy yet somehow untethered, with backing vocals that soared. So, John cranked the volume to eleven and the whole house vibrated and the three of us just listened and let the song take over. "Can't take my eyes from the circling sky/tongue-tied and twisted, just an earthbound misfit…" I loved that moment and I still think about how it almost moved me to tears, the way a good song played loudly often does-it shuttles you to the night skies where you can dance and feel true and be wild; but now there is even more emotional weight and meaning in light of John's passing a few months later. I'm thankful, though, for having so many good memories that I can write about and share. This is just the first…Love, Sonja