A death is an earthquake. It leaves you shaken in the aftermath, assessing what is still standing. A death is an opportunity, leaving you considering what is worth building back into your life and what actually needs tearing all the way down. And in that opportunity, a death is a gift for those still living – the gift of clarity, the gift of truth, a stripping down to bare bones honesty with ourselves about how we’re living and what we’ll leave behind when it’s our turn to go.
I got news yesterday of the passing of a friend from acting class, DH Peligro. We met in Jocelyn Jones Studio, a magnificent acting class run by Jocelyn Jones here in Los Angeles. I knew DH as the gentle soul with the beaming smile that shone on you like a bright light. It lit him up, and that lit you up. He was the kind and good looking guy who did super fun stuff with his dreads. He was a person who was generous with his kindness, ready with a hug, a hand hold, or a shoulder squeeze. He was 63 when he died yesterday – I thought he was in his 40’s – it still feels far, far too young.
Though an acting studio, Jocelyn’s studio has always been a meeting place for artists of many backgrounds, for whom acting has become one more medium, one more way to investigate human experience and to create. It is a home to actors, but also directors, producers, writers, filmmakers, dancers, studio artists, and musicians. While I knew DH was a musician, I didn’t know the full extent of his career as long-time drummer for the Dead Kennedys.
John Rutter’s Requiem may be about as far from the Dead Kennedy’s as you can get, but it's what was on KUSC when I got in the car, and DH was an open-minded guy. A requiem is a mass for the repose of the dead, and also an act or token of remembrance, so it was pretty fitting. I spent my drive thinking about DH and music and remembering and transitions. After class, I stopped at a reservoir here in LA and walked on the dewy grass in bare feet as a walking meditation, holding space for him, and for me. I walked a big circle one way, and then traced my way back, slowly, letting thoughts and feelings arise, considering our journey from soul to embodied soul, back to soul. From cosmic dust to person and back to dust. I thought about how DH would have loved the feeling of the grass underneath his feet, and how I believe his glorious soul has all those good sensations and more now. I felt the sun warm my back, like a hand on my shoulder. And I laughed at something my husband said last night, “Just think of all the great musicians he gets to be with now…” Hendrix, Lennon, and Marley, I thought, and all the punk legends I don’t know about yet but I’m sure DH did.
The aftermath of a death is for us, remember. The aftermath is for the people “left behind”, the souls still in their bodies on this planet at this time, for our hearts and minds trying to grasp a transition vaster than anything we can remember experiencing, despite having done it before – from soul into body, from womb into world, from body back to soul.
A soul, unhindered by physicality, returns to our purest form – love. And slowly, piece by piece, those of us in the aftermath move through grief and back to that, too. Thank you for that smile, DH. Rest in peace, and power. Shine on, shine on. Om shanti shanti shanti.
To see DH in action, click here.
To hear John Rutter’s requiem, click here.