Leonard had a voice with the authority to soothe the journey of a treacherous landscape we insist on traversing. We, like small children skinning our knees on love, and he, the adult whispering in our ear that it’s all going to be OK. Because it has to be OK. And with that, a way of taking your mind off the madness of your own isolated turmoil. A gift for revealing the mysterious outcomes of the provocative heart. He was a soldier amongst the many uniforms of love. The Zen survivor of self-torment’s darkest hour. A lazy bastard in a suit. With his passing, perhaps a particular sacred timing, when we were reeling from the heartache of the progressive world in collapse, the travesties amongst brothers and sisters being pitted against each other, and the ill-effects of a postelection sickness, he made it all seem momentarily moot by comparison to his leaving. Just like the gentleman he was, the healer, the sonic rabbi candle lighter, a most reverent disciple of the softened decibel, the beholder of a poet’s murmur unlike any other.
From People Who Died: Leonard Cohen by Howe Gelb (Tucson Weekly: Dec 29, 2016). Howe Gelb is a Singer-songwriter, musician, record producer based in Tucson
Credit Due Department: Photo by Hreinn Gudlaugsson – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikipedia Commons