My Hero Dies...

What do you call it when what you love the most is what kills you. Irony? Or plain lucky to have died doing what you loved best. Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin was killed instantly early this morning when a bull ray lashed out at him in shallow waters of the Great Barrier Reef. Irwin was swimming as his cameraman was filming bull rays at Batt Reef, when the tragedy occurred. Marine documentary maker Ben Cropp, who spoke to the members of the crew had this to say about the incident, “In this case he was swimming alongside a bull ray, a big black ray and the cameraman would have been in front, filming him. Steve got probably maybe a bit too close to the ray, and with the cameraman in front, the ray must have felt sort of cornered. It baulked but didn't spook and go racing away, which would have been fine. It went into a defensive mode, stopped, turned around and lashed out with its tail which has a considerable spike on it. Unfortunately Steve was directly in its path and he took a fatal wound.''

I cant stop thinking. I must have been 15 when I first saw this energetic and uninhibited young man hanging out from a speeding jeep, chasing wild mustangs, or camels was it? trying to lasso them in. He fell of the jeep, bruised his limbs, got up, hopped right back into the vehicle to do what he had to. Hours later, bleeding, severed, with his clothes in tatters, his lasso finally slipped in place and what was raw beastly power tearing across the woods was now a passive bundle of nerves on one end of a rope. And Steve Irwin was in charge of the other- and seemingly more powerful end. What struck me was the passion. He felt so much for the animal that he felt nothing else. Even his bleeding arm.

And I knew thats how passionate I wanted to be. I wasnt sure if it was the right amount of passion for one to have. But I could feel something strange, perhaps dormant within until now, surge through my veins and unleash itself inside of me. And I just stood there, motionless- my head swimming amongst a thousand thoughts. I dint want to clear them up for fear of seeing things straight- the way they were. I'd begun to like this feeling of chaos between my brows.
Ten years later, with the news of his death, I feel exactly the same. Chaotic and numb. Afraid of the moment when things will make itself clear before me. Would I like what I might see? I dont want to know. Theres spanish music playing in the background. The fact that I dont understand spanish just adds to all senselessness in and around me- it feels right. Was Cropp right when he said Steve probably got too close to the ray fish? Does that mean that had he not been as passionate as he was, he'd probably be alive right now? Can your love for something be greater than your reasoning? How can you measure passion? How much is the right amount? How do you know when you are crossing the line? I dont know. I dont know if I'd want to know. I am trying to find an answer, however ugly it may sound. But all I can see is a young man hanging out from a speeding jeep, chasing wild mustangs. He falls of the jeep, bruises his limbs, gets up, hops right back into the vehicle to do what he has to. And his moment of death was full of life.

Monday September 4, 2006 - 04:19pm