A Life Addiction August 2006
in memoriam, our beloved:
Marko Nikola Luzajic 1974-2005

There is tremendous truth to large bodies of history and philosophy on the connections between art and madness or tragedy. There exists much argument over whether madness drives an artist to create to heal herself, or whether manic-depression or insanity is simply the sad birthright of the creative. I believe it is both.

Despite being a rather cheerful person, I’ve always examined the themes of darkness, death, drugs, delusions, world conspiracies, madness, fear, poverty, power struggles, and so on. Art is always a way to question and work through the facts, and some facts of life are pretty tragic.

A number of harrowing losses these past few years sent me spiraling deep into the dark nights of the soul. Much to my surprise my emergence after a long bleak winter immersed in silent chaos held some positive awakening. I truly felt that I died along with my husband Marko last summer. Of course I had a lot of processing to do on how I lost this most precious of soul mates – through drug addiction. And some of the first works after the solemn hell of being alone express my conflicted emotions for the underworld, its sacred secrets and its dangers. I had more anger than I’d ever known, and more sorrow than I believed I could handle.

And then I began to notice something strange. I began to feel strength. I began to feel that each day was a gift.
I began to question if there were ways to manage grief.
I began to feel a profound acceptance for things I couldn’t change. I began to think about changing the things that were in my power. I began to feel the spiritual presence of Marko and two other precious friends who also died young in the past few years. I realized I was lucky to be alive and have chances to and to see more. I began to feel God’s comfort in ways I hadn’t for a long time.

There was no secret to how this happened.
It happened because I opened my eyes.

We do not know the day or the hour. And it doesn’t matter what crippling curses or dramas life is wrought with. Life is hard. Its tragedies are important areas of exploration. The news is full of them. Philosophy is
full of them. Religion is full of them. Human beings
are confused, corrupt, and crazy. But there’s another side, as well, one that we would do well to be
grateful for: this front row centre to the circus and
the magic. I have always believed in signs, in portents, in symbols. Now I am beginning to know what they mean.

I started to believe that nothing is going to break this heart. I am going to stand tall through everything.
I am going to take power and remove things that harm me from my life. And if they don’t go as fast as I would like, I am going to have compassion on myself and pray for grace. If others cannot act according to my wishes, I will practice deeper acceptance but draw healthier boundaries. I will allow myself tears, grief, anger, and escapism: but not at the price of joyful experiences, growth, and true celebration. I will not waste time on negative emotions, but when I have them, I will see them as teachers. I will believe that love, even with loss, is worth its heartbeat in gold.
I will believe that God is compassionate. I will work on my compulsions but accept my imperfections. I will be thankful for the gift of friendship and love, however brief a relationship may be, regardless of how it may end. I will try to be there for my loved ones, and expect that they be there for me. I will practice looking at the light side of the moon.