I’m having a bit of trouble in my teen years… someone I hold dear very dear has gone.She’s gone and I’m still here and she’s not dead or deceased but I’m unable to get in contact with her for reasons the cosmic universe chose for me.We very much love each other but it was time to part. She’s reminded me that this matrix is worthwhile and she’s shown me that I’m worth it too.Dear Nick, I miss her.I miss herI miss her.
HAJRA @ Issue no. 293Dear Nick, I have no question for you today. I just wanted to send my heartfelt condolences on the tragic loss of Jethro. All I can do is offer the collective love of all who read your letters. Much love to you and all your family.
TERESA @ Issue no. 195I’m writing to you on behalf of my Aunt Marnie as she can’t. She’s consumed by grief. She lost her only child, Tristan, to a stroke, aged 49. We’re all consumed by sadness and mourn for the loss of her son, however hers is another thing altogether. She can’t bring herself to see anyone. I can’t reach her. Her laugh that brought smiles to all of us is gone. What can I do? What can I say? We all love her but feel so powerless. How can we start to bring our Aunt Marnie back?
IAN @ Issue no. 151In an interview from 1997 in Los Angeles, you introduced us to your “pet theory”: your creativity could only flourish in a state of loss and longing, and that it needed catastrophes in your life. Finally, and this is what resonated with me the most, you stated that you could not get much substance out of living a life which was content. Do you still believe that? A sincere and devoted admirer of yours who sort of struggles in a content life.
HYUN @ Issue no. 121I was thinking how much I wish I could write this story to you in Greek, my native language. In June one of my best friends suddenly died aged 46. He was a sailing buddy for about 20 years, since I was 18. We have sailed up and down the Aegean Sea for thousands of miles. We had booked a sailing yacht for the whole of August, just the two of us, to go sailing in the deserted – due to Covid – Aegean. He was getting married in September, and this was meant to be our own, peculiar, spiritual, bachelor party. We would take with us our music, our books and our drugs. And we would sail where the wind took us. When August came, I decided to go ahead with the journey on my own. I nailed a picture of him, Fotis, on the cockpit and begun alone, though many friends wanted to come along. But I wanted no crew. I felt somewhat like Ahab beginning a doomed voyage. I thought I should spare any crew. I took with me 4 full discographies. Yours, Pink Floyd, Radiohead, and the greatest Greek of the 20th century, Savvopoulos. And two books, Moby Dick by Melville, and Odyssey by Homer. A week in the journey this happened. I was doing a long night sail. I always enjoy night sails. The wind was light and fair, no land or human in sight. No sound from an engine but the sails gently flapping in the wind, and the bow slowly advancing through the water. I was traversing a large stretch of water eastwards, from Mykonos to Patmos. The Milky Way was shining on top of me like a crown of all that has ever been. Ghosteen was on the speakers. I was having my coffee and my morning joint (you will hopefully not share this with the Hellenic coast guard!) all alone in the very first light. As the sun begun to break from the horizon (as I was travelling eastward), Galleon Ship entered. I stood there, all alone, watching a thousand-galleon ships sailing, “ghostly around the morning sun.” I broke down. I was overwhelmed. It brought me to my knees. I was kneeling in the cockpit, in the twilight, moving slowly towards the sun, crying my heart out. The closest to a prayer a non-believer can experience. And then of course, the way you have the album arranged, Ghosteen started speaking to me. I am beside you I am beside you Look for me Suddenly everything made sense. I could physically sense and see the Ghosteen. Everyone singing to be free, broke free. I could almost physically sense all that has ever been, and all that will ever be. Everything had somehow clicked in my head. Loss was okay. It was only part of the game. The beauty of it all came in the foreground. I rose up and smiled at the emerging sun. So I guess all I’m trying to say is this: 1) I want you to know I can see and sense the Ghosteen. It will be with me forever. Until I close my eyes. 2) Thank you.
STATHIS @ Issue no. 119I lost someone in the last year. It’s unknown and unspoken territory to me. I thought it was fine. I thought it was fine. It was a gentle passing. Now shapes and echoes resound. I feel a presence that comes and goes – a comforting presence, gentle and protective. I don’t understand it. I don’t believe in a god that sits above. I feel a presence in all things – something mysterious and miraculous. Sometimes I gaze gently at birds and trees and am deeply moved by the life that hums in them. For I love birds and trees especially the sparrows and tall trees with wide branches. It’s strange to feel so connected and yet have a feeling of being so disconnected. At times I’m fine – more than fine as they are here and I forget I lost them and my memories hold the space of all things we shared. My question is I don’t know how to understand the experience of loss. It’s not something I could negotiate with. I hope this makes some sense.
ROSE @ Issue no. 106Dear Nick, I was at your In Conversation event in Antwerp. There was a man with a light and a microphone, but suddenly he was gone. I just wanted to tell you something. I didn’t want to tell you and all the other people the full story that evening, just a bit, but I want to tell it to you now. My partner died in 2014: traffic. At that moment I was actually pregnant by him, but nobody knew. It was still a little early and I was pregnant after fertility-treatment. He died and five days after his death, I lost his child. Our child. He was a huge fan of your music and I think I became a fan of your music because of him. ‘Into My Arms’ became our song. The song was playing and he asked me to dance and so it became our song. Nothing special, but for us it was a special song. I wanted to play it at his funeral. People asked me afterwards if I thought it was a love song or a song of loss. A song of love, I thought. It was a silly question – but the man I love was there in a coffin and I just wanted to hear that song on the day he was buried, because it was our song, the song of our love for each other and I loved that man and I still love him. Nothing more, nothing less, that was the reason I wanted it played at his funeral. We had already bought tickets for a Bad Seeds concert together. He was dead, so because of that my best friend went with me. You played ‘Into My Arms’ and I started to cry, not because of the sadness, but because of the beauty of it. I was standing there and for the first time since he passed away, I felt my partner standing by my side. Maybe it sounds stupid, but I really felt him standing by my side. My best friend cuddled me and gave me a kiss on my forehead. She cuddled me in a strong way. I was really crying, smiling too and I felt love everywhere, for and from my partner and for and from my best friend too. I went into a kind of trance of love, it was an amazing experience, that’s for sure, and it was when you were playing that song. I’m crying now, because I feel that same feeling. I still think it was wonderful. It was 2015, those days. My best friend died in 2016: cancer. ‘Into My Arms’ is not just the song for me and my partner anymore, it is the song for and from my best friend and all the people I love, but those two people are standing for true love for me too, so it became a song of true love, true love I actually feel when you play that song. Since they died, I like to be at any of your concerts, because of the amazing beauty I feel when you play ‘Into My Arms’. I feel Guido and Amber beside me. And all I wanted to ask was if you would play that song, so I could feel them again beside me that evening. The man with the light and the microphone was suddenly gone, but you played ‘Into My Arms’ anyway. I was very grateful that you played it. Now I just want to say “thanks”, for that song, for all of your songs, for such a wonderful evening, because it was with love.
ELS @ Issue no. 45Three and a half years ago I lost my wife and I was left to take care of my (then 2 year old) daughter. She’s a happy little girl but I know she’s happiest when her father is happy. I’ve been finding it hard to find happiness. It’s not my loss – I made peace with that a while back. I just haven’t found my life again. You’re a happy man. We all get that vibe when we see you play live. Has it always been this way, have you always been able to cut through the heavy moments in life to enjoy living?
WILLIAM @ Issue no. 23