Seeing the splendid photos of my friend Ed Fielding in the varied periods of his life was in part revellational, and in part reminder that just such a short moment ago his unredoubtable beneficent spirit was faithfully toiling in his self-directed but well portalled fashion. A very nicely put together slide show carried on throughout the evening at Buddies in Bad Times Theatre, as many friends looked on, some with tears, others with good spirited camaraderie, and some taking a moment on the stage to share thoughts or sing. 
In the presence of such an highly spiritual community as was friends and family of Ed, I was nonetheless not expecting to see some dazzling astral phantom of this splendid actor and writer, but palpably expecting to see him. It just seemed a place he’d be. …I was feeling a wreck myself, the return of Monday and winter weather and all, (so wrong to have a stomach ache), after a long workday, and I don’t know what I would have said had ventured to the stage. 
A song, a poeticism, Ed’s realism just seems enough as a thing to think about. Human foibles knowing and accepting, sly with shift of word humour, and a true adventurer. To this moment and on the pleasent feeling of knowing there’s nothing I could really ever confide that he wouldn’t understand: not that he’d necessarily approve or applaud it, but he’d seem to understand it. I’ve had such luck in my oft baffling life and life in human and animal communication to have some friends and family members who really do understand what I mean. It breaks more than branches when the greats in this regard. I find dying very annoying. It roils. I’m glad others have wonderful systems of belief, and entertain all notions, but it annoys me that people die. I know that, when they have to, they do. The whole thing is upsetting and disturbing in every way, dying. Phenomenologistically one rolls through it, even though it is always a bad idea. It’s hardly any use! It is too annoying 
– I scarcely know how people ever stray from a cosmic and vast sense of zen acceptance of life’s mad finishe, while charging into living and life itself and time and adventure with all heart and soul. Caution indeed, but all whole hearted, all like Ed. All like Ed. Such a life! So many things to subsequently ask about, on that hillside poetry event where my beloved cats and sublime ancestors predecessors and friends asssemble welcoming word from the stage
Memorial
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Oversion 
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