A year ago, yesterday, an extraordinary young man of 33 died. Suddenly.  His heart had grown too big.  His partner, Deb, found him on the floor, their cat curled and sleeping against his body, a blissful smile on his face.  A young person's death will break hearts for all the promise and potential that's stopped.  Erik's death ... well, if you have a few minutes, I beg you to read this.  I will not tell the story well.  I'm still guarding it - not jealously, but there's something too pure, and luminous, in this.  It's a story that is greater than my talents.  And I apologize for that, but now is a very good time to tell it. 

I've known smarter men.  I've known more talented men.  I've known more accomplished men.  I have never known a man more whole, more authentically humble in the face of the mystery of the world. 

So, the shortest (promise!) biography:

He was just about to enter the seminary - he was the son of a Lutheran minister and a psychologist - when he made a very thoughtful decision to instead live among men.  His choice was to listen for the echoes of the ancient, to search for and be awake to the patterns that men recreate every day, following their deepest instincts.  A modern Viking himself - he was a huge Nordic man- he could feel whatever beckoned to the warrior, whatever pulse it was that the great pagans felt as a kind of tremble in their hearts. 

People will call that myth and magic and they'll drop in mention of 'shamanism' and it'll all be very interesting.  Erik - yes, he talked about it, but he ... had it.  He was it. 

During the week of mourning last year, people of all ages gathered to share stories of Erik as people will.  If I tell you that he'd been wise counsel and loyal friend - well, I suspect I'd be telling you what you were expecting to hear.  But imagine, for a moment, that person after person gave testimony to Erik's rare, rare willingness to listen to all, readiness to be present and share in whatever was interesting to that person.  There was not one person who spoke who didn't speak of Erik's strength.  One group 'elected' him their leader.  He tried to refuse but, as one fellow told it, "We said: Hm.  Too bad.  You're the only one qualified."

Erik's intellect and education made him able to talk with anyone.  His temperament and spirit felt like an embrace.  He was love, true love, to men and women alike. 

End of biography.  I didn't know any of the above.  Nope.  Not a bit.   Erik and I were friends - how to say this?  We were friends, independent of anyone else - just he and I, not because our circle overlapped, not because we even shared interests.  I don't remember how our friendship began, but we soon had this idea that he would illustrate and I would write and animate his work and we would create an online cartoon series. 

We met often and hardly made any progress at all.  Nope.  We just couldn't get past talking.  Nothing unusual in that.  People do it all the time.  But good god - no matter how innocently they began, our conversations just turned into teeth-sinking philosophical, god and love and the whole kitchen sink in our culture talks.  Erik had nothing less than a gargantuan appetite for the truth.  I have an appetite, but mine competes with the taste for Milky Way bars.  Truth.  It's the stuff that'll make a mind go numb, but he ... he needed it.  He was finding, closing in on, answers about his being.  And here's the most amazing thing.  No matter what we talked about, no matter what - always, reliably, and - to my mind - shockingly - full of sympathy for mankind.  

It was authentic sympathy, too.  Erik was, to be sure, deeply philosophical and incredibly well read, but he was also a martial arts student.  Hell, he'd been a bouncer.  Picture big.  Picture a man who could have led by force of physique alone.   He didn't care.  His body disappeared in our conversations. 

It's entirely my fault if you have a picture of someone just yapping about metaphysics.  He really was present, entirely present, and absorbing and sorting.   He shared - without preface, without extracting a promise from me that it would be 'just between us' - fears and doubts.  He asked me to discuss love and loyalty.   And I did.  It wasn't theatrical.  It was the contract between friends. 

In the week of mourning last year, people toyed with making Erik a legend.  They tried out "WWED" as a motto.  Someone had to explain to this agnostic that it came from What Would Jesus Do.  Of course, people couldn't help being people: self centered, jealous, mean.  It's life, after all. 

Well, here's the end of my story.  If you've read this far, please indulge me just a little bit more while I remind you: I never knew Erik's reputation.  I knew him in all his humanity and his struggles and it was easy to cherish him.   

At his wake, I introduced myself to his mother.  To my astonishment, she knew of me, knew of my close relationship with Erik.  Even then, I was instantly convinced that it wasn't me that Erik spoke of, but ... that small space of relief and safety where he could explore his weaknesses, his full doubts. 

And now I can put it all together.  Easily, a hundred people met a fire circle (one of the many ritual good-byes).  Over and over, people said they believed that in death, Erik had found what he'd been searching for.  Me?  I know he knew it here.  I know that's what was ... nearly too much. 

I understood -oh, SO briefly - but it was intense and clear for that brief moment - the need for a Christ. 

Erik did the work and the loving and the meditation/contemplation so many didn't have to.  I've spent a year, and I'll probably spend longer, trying to find a way to share with those he loved what I knew without breaking his confidence (the one he never he never asked me to pledge).  Deb who was his partner, his friends, the community that had his sympathy - oh my god, to have love like his.  He fought for that in the depths of his heart, in the highest reaches of his mind, in the furthest furthest edges of his spirit.  He didn't pray.  He went in, a fearless warrior, and met it.  I don't know what people imagine their Christ to be, but I have never and will never meet a man more Christ-like. 

He was brave in every small deed, with every small person.   

It's a bunch of words to you.  I'm sorry.  I can't do better.  At Erik's funeral, one of the men asked to do a reading, said of Erik the warrior, "If I were going into battle, I would have wanted Erik on my side.  Because he could not harm anyone."