"It was down a cobble stoned, palm lined street in Old Havana that Andre Kazanas last walked before his untimely and self inflicted death at the age of thirty-two.
He was a painter from childhood, at first making crude stick figures which seemed somehow more refined than those of the other children his age and then later, as he grew into adolescence and even later still, inevitably, manhood, he painted daily. Over the years he experimented not just with the various mediums or their applications, but with subject matter as well. The brushes were love in his hands, they felt like the comfort of warm milk and the erotic hold they had on his heart gave him no choice but to concede to the passion that, in all, consumed very nearly his entire life.
Under advisement from the inner voices that had haunted him for longer than he could, or would have cared to remember, Andre Kazanas had tended to his lingering unpaid bills with money squirreled away from the occasional painting sold on a nearby street corner to tourists from England or Morocco, or from a belt worn tighter and even on occasion from a bit of much denied thievery; the details of which would debase an otherwise worthy sense of pride and integrity should the particulars be made public. The entire matter, done over the span of three weeks, just twenty one short days, was handled with the ease and relief of an early afternoon summer swim in the warm emerald green waters of the Cuban Gulf Stream. And after the echoing sound of gunfire had subsided, no one was more shocked at his death than Andre Kazanas himself.
He had chased the dream woman for ten years before the unbearable pain completely and utterly consumed him. Left at the mercy of his muse, he was not to understand the meaning of his pain, his passion and indeed the meaning of his life until just after pulling the trigger of the small caliber pistol he had aimed with precision to his temple. It was there in the millisecond between the hammer slamming down and the hot metal piercing his flesh that it all became perfectly clear. An entire life and further reaching still, the entire universe and its meaning had come into focus with crystal clarity. But, by then it was too late.
The muse that had haunted him, indeed tortured him right over the brink, was the very identity of his existence. He never once considered the option of lying still long enough to absorb the ache that permeated his soul to process it into his being, his persona. He misunderstood this muse of his. Misinterpreted it as a forbearer of evil; purveyor of insanity. He was not aware that he was being offered a gift; one that under different circumstances would have found him envious of it’s bearer and begging for a turn at the brass ring of this merry go-round carnival ride of life - a life he had just seconds before ended.
The muse was a gift of the highest order but not having the necessary music in his heart - a music of the spheres - he was not able to see it as a good and hallowed thing. Tortured by the cacophonous confusion of an orchestra playing loudly, wildly and without a conductor, he chose to silence the band.
It was not until his landlord unlocked the door of Andre Kazanas’ cramped studio apartment high above the din of Parisian like streets that the world “discovered” him. His muses, their grip fastened tightly, commanded him to paint the angels he saw in his mind’s eye and when he ran out of canvas and could afford no more, he painted the walls. A celestine prophecy. Man’s eternal search for an earthly representation of the heavens was answered. Beyond the Bible, beyond Michelangelo, Andre Kazanas had been given a gift from a Divine Spirit and when the gift was fully appreciated in the way of physical completion Andre Kazanas..."
~from the short story, "The Passage of Andre Kazanas"
What happened to Andre Kazanas and how does his story teach us about how our lives impact others? Find out buy visiting my Amazon Author Page. Click on the Navigating By The Stars book and in 30 seconds you'll find out.
http://amzn.to/JacksonDunes ~ Amazon Author Page
We travel through our lives without much thought about how our actions, both positive or negative, influence the lives of others. The Passage Of Andre Kazanas is a moving testament to this power.
I'm always amazed when people tell me about a particular story or poem or Pug Adventure I'd written years ago changed their lives. Whether it's the man who started each day reading my poem "Morgan Dreams" to keep him motivated to chase his own tropical dream, or the paralyzed woman who read my essay on Salsa dancing before her daily physical therapy sessions because she was determined (and succeeded) to walk again after brain surgery, each story we share changes the lives of people near and far.
So, when you're getting a little melancholy about your life and how it doesn't seem to add up or seem to make any difference, remember that it really does. And if Andre Kazanas had waited a little longer before ending his life he may have realized that.
http://amzn.to/AndreKazanas ~ Navigating By The Stars
The Passage of Andre Kazanas ~ A Cuban painter, tortured by his muse, realizes too late the healing powers his paintings have teaching us that what we do has an impact on others, more than we may realize.
Navigating By The Stars, Five Very Short Stories From The Islands. While very short, shorter than traditional short stories, the five distinct and thought provoking stories in this collection will intrigue the reader to ask of themselves,