More on Michael Jackson's death -

June 30, 2009

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David

Deepak Chopra: Michael Jackson

June 26, 2009 01:08 AM

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Deepak Chopra writes

Michael Jackson will be remembered, most likely, as a shattered icon, a pop

genius who wound up a mutant of fame. That's not who I will remember, however.

His mixture of mystery, isolation, indulgence, overwhelming global fame, and

personal loneliness was intimately known to me. For twenty years I observed

every aspect, and as easy as it was to love Michael -- and to want to protect

him -- his sudden death yesterday seemed almost fated.

Two days previously he had called me in an upbeat, excited mood. The voice

message said, " I've got some really good news to share with you. " He was writing

a song about the environment, and he wanted me to help informally with the

lyrics, as we had done several times before. When I tried to return his call,

however, the number was disconnected. (Terminally spooked by his treatment in

the press, he changed his phone number often.) S o I never got to talk to him,

and the music demo he sent me lies on my bedside table as a poignant symbol of

an unfinished life.

When we first met, around 1988, I was struck by the combination of charisma and

woundedness that surrounded Michael. He would be swarmed by crowds at an

airport, perform an exhausting show for three hours, and then sit backstage

afterward, as we did one night in Bucharest, drinking bottled water, glancing

over some S ufi poetry as I walked into the room, and wanting to meditate.

That person, whom I considered (at the risk of ridicule) very pure, still

survived -- he was reading the poems of Rabindranath Tagore when we talked the

last time, two weeks ago. Michael exemplified the paradox of many famous

performers, being essentially shy, an introvert who would come to my house and

spend most of the evening sitting by himself in a corner with his small

children. I never saw less than a loving father when they were together (and

wonder now, as anyone close to him would, what will happen to them in the

aftermath).

Michael's reluctance to grow up was another part of the paradox. My children

adored him, and in return he responded in a childlike way. He declared often, as

former child stars do, that he was robbed of his childhood. Considering the

monstrously exaggerated value our society places on celebrity, which was

showered on Michael without stint, the public was callous to his very real

personal pain. It became another tawdry piece of the tabloid Jacko, pictured as

a weird changeling and as something far more sinister.

It's not my place to comment on the troubles Michael fell heir to from the past

and then amplified by his misguided choices in life. He was surrounded by

enablers, including a shameful plethora of M.D.s in Los Angeles and elsewhere

who supplied him with prescription drugs. As many times as he would candidly

confess that he had a problem, the conversation always ended with a deflection

and denial. As I write this paragraph, the reports of drug abuse are spreading

across the cable news channels. The instant I heard of his death this afternoon,

I had a sinking feeling that prescription drugs would play a key part.

The closest we ever became, perhaps, was when Michael needed a book to sell

primarily as a concert souvenir. It would contain pictures for his fans but

there would also be a text consisting of short fables. I sat with him for hours

while he dreamily wove Aesop-like tales about animals, mixed with words about

music and his love of all things musical. This project became Dancing the Dream

after I pulled the text together for him, acting strictly as a friend. It was

this time together that convinced me of the modus vivendi Michael had devised

for himself: to counter the tidal wave of stress that accompanies mega-stardom,

he built a private retreat in a fantasy world where pink clouds veiled inner

anguish and Peter Pan was a hero, not a pathology.

This compromise with reality gradually became unsustainable. He went to strange

lengths to preserve it. Unbounded privilege became another toxic force in his

undoing. What began as idiosyncrasy, shyness, and vulnerability was ravaged by

obsessions over health, paranoia over security, and an isolation that grew more

and more unhealthy. When Michael passed me the music for that last song, the one

sitting by my bedside waiting for the right words, the procedure for getting the

CD to me rivaled a CIA covert operation in its secrecy.

My memory of Michael Jackson will be as complex and confused as anyone's. His

closest friends will close ranks and try to do everything in their power to

insure that the good lives after him. Will we be successful in rescuing him

after so many years of media distortion? No one can say. I only wanted to put

some details on the record in his behalf. My son Gotham traveled with Michael as

a roadie on his " Dangerous " tour when he was seventeen. Will it matter that

Michael behaved with discipline and impeccable manners around my son? (It sends

a shiver to recall something he told Gotham : " I don't want to go out like

Marlon Brando. I want to go out like Elvis. " Both icons were obsessions of this

icon.)

His children's nanny and surrogate mother, Grace Rwaramba , is like another

daughter to me. I introduced her to Michael when she was eighteen, a beautiful,

heartwarming girl from Rwanda who is now grown up. S he kept an eye on him for

me and would call me whenever he was down or running too close to the edge. How

heartbreaking for Grace that no one's protective instincts and genuine love

could avert this tragic day. An hour ago she was sobbing on the telephone from

London . As a result, I couldn't help but write this brief remembrance in

sadness. But when the shock subsides and a thousand public voices recount

Michael's brilliant, joyous, embattled, enigmatic, bizarre trajectory, I hope

the word " joyous " is the one that will rise from the ashes and shine as he once

did.

***Bless passionate, beloved Michael Jackson. He will be with us again! We are

One. Bless us all.

Resort and S pa * 2013 Costa del Mar Rd. Carlsbad, CA 92009 * namaste

*

July 1, 2009

Thank you for sharing this. Chopra has integrity and won't be forced by friends and press to say what is politically correct now. Too bad he couldn't have had a greater influence on Michael Jackson. This is so beautifully written. They were both very fortunate to have each other as friends.