Roland Bannwart
June 30 1963 – June 28 2002

I said with my eyes that
I recognized your chin
It was my long lost friend
To help me from another lifetime
We took each others hands and cried
Like a river when we said hello
And we walked to Tir Na Nog
-Van Morrison (No Method, No Guru)

I met Roli on my first full day on Crete. I had arrived after a tough grey winter of teaching in Prague and was lured by the promise of ripe figs and yellow lemons…luxuries unknown in a country just emerging from under the iron fist. It was the light that I was seeking, and it was light, a rare and holy light that I found there. A light so pure that it poured through the cracks in my heart. A light so perfect that within its circle I found my soulmates.

It would be impossible to tell the story here, now, in this place. To recount the hours spent in laughter and silence. To list his virtues, his bravery and brightness, his strength and beauty. To testify the connection, both of us losing our legs in Amsterdam, he physically, I figuratively. And to impart the space left behind in my life with his passing. What I can say is that if ever there was an angel sent to prepare me for the fate that awaited, it was Roland. And I can say, Thanks God.

He is buried here. Between Mirthios and the Sea. Under the olives. I wonder if they buried him with a fig in his hand.

{Jarvis Cocker that is}

A million thanks to my long lost friend Lane Relyea for turning me on to Pulp back when the streets of LA were burning…