I’m not that surprised that the Suicide Discussion has received as many responses as it has, most of them have been private emails. God forbid a person should say you don’t automatically go to hell, or get reincarnated if you commit suicide, and then get blamed if someone chooses that exit. There is such a sense of shame, worry and secrecy around the concept of suicide in Western / Christian culture, that well-known psychics and spiritual leaders don’t seem to want to touch the topic with a ten foot poll.

Well, I’m neither of those things, so let’s dive back in.

But first! Remember, there are no *rules* about what happens to or applies to everyone. This is another thing that psychics / spiritual leaders forget: Just because you’ve observed a trend, that doesn’t imply a rule. Just because someone has said they won’t come back, doesn’t mean they won’t change their minds.

One big, stubborn holdout on the idea of one last earthly incarnation is our beautiful Kurt. The first time we asked Kurt if he’d ever come back, he said, “I wouldn’t touch that planet with a 100 ft. dick.” Just picture the visual he gave me. Thanks buddy.

On that point, Kurt’s been adamant and has communicated the same thing to two other psychics who’ve blogged about talking to him.

But something happened last night, and it was so subtle, I’m not sure it was actually Kurt, or if I’m making this up. I think all psychics experience a cyclical resurgence of doubt every once in a while, and Kurt seems to be especially talented at challenging me to have faith in myself, or succumb to doubt again.

You know, a big part of becoming psychic is giving yourself permission to believe that these subtle flashes of thought in your head are really communications… But I can assure you that a grounded person is still tempted to doubt. Maybe it came in softly because I was disbelieving it as it happened. I don’t know about this one, I’m asking for confirmation: Kurt, if that was you talking about this during the F-word last night, please find a way to give me a white feather in the next week, buddy. I need some help with this one. (He says, are you going to believe it when you get it? Yes, I promise, I will. Blow my mind hole, do it!)

Okay. So last night Sweetie & I were watching a movie called “The Other F-Word”. It’s a documentary about punk rock stars of the 80s and 90s who are now parenting. The way the rock scene and the family scene collides, yet co-exists is fascinating, funny, contradictory, even hypocritical. I *loved* that movie. I totally recommend it.

The movie starts out with band members, mostly lead singers, from popular bands of the 90s which Sweetie of course knows and I don’t. Pennywise, Black Flag (Kurt’s talked about that one) Chili Peppers, a few others. Help me out here, Sweetie, in the comments if you don’t mind.

At first, all you see are middle-aged men who seem to be desperately clinging to the appearances and ideals of their youth. Kurt liked to condemn the hippie movement for being on the brink of changing the world, and then just giving up. Well now, the same can be said of the punk rock movement. Here it is, twenty years later. Pennywise is still going through the motions of touring half the year, but now the singer goes home to a cookie-cutter, beige house in suburbia, driving in his this-is-not-a-minivan! S.U.V with child carseats and stuffed animals in the back.

They talk about the music, the good old days. They talk about moving from a private label to a corporate one, about accepting nike as a sponsor despite the anti-corporate anger that used to resonate in the mid-nineties, when they were in their prime. They bitch about being judged by people who drink Starbucks coffee and fill their cars with Shell gasoline – it’s an imperfect world, and now, they have bills to pay.

I remembered that video of Kurt with Frances when she was an infant. He was pretending to be her voice, chiding her father. Dad, you’re so goddamn old. You’re so goddamn unhip! Cute baby voice, already exasperated with her rock-star father. For the first bit in the movie, it’s kind of a joke. All you can see are the tired eyes, the second chin, the hats-to-hide-the-bald-spot, the beer bellies on men who have moved from authentic artistic rage into corporate complacency.

But then.

Then they start talking about how they got there. They talk about their childhoods, they talk about losing friends every year to heroin-related deaths. One fellow talked about holding his still-born daughter and reading her a story before he allowed the nurses to take her away. Another told of the day his own son died in a car accident, how he ran up the stairs to shoot himself and follow his kid into death – his kid who must need him. How he ran into his other two sons moments before retrieving the gun, how he collapsed under the realization that he’s not going anywhere.

You start looking past the superficial in these guys, and you see the heroism. They’re survivors, they overcame childhoods that drive most to destruction. They survived the rock scene, they are fathers who love their kids – not one of these guys had a loving dad. They do the best they can, and in the context of all they’ve overcome, they’ve performed transformative miracles.

Then I hear Kurt, “Maybe I will come back, try it again.” It’s just a whisper. It’s not yet a decision. He gives me this sense of, maybe, if he didn’t make it quite so hard on himself, maybe he’d come back, this time survive, this time be with his kids.

Did I hear you right, Kurt?

“That’s my only regret. You can’t hold on to regrets here, you have to release them, or face them and change them. I think I might have one more in me.”

Reincarnation is always a choice. Karma is always about balancing out the impact you’ve had on the world. I don’t know how it ties into suicide, but it always seems to work out. It’s all a big circle, my friends.