Did We Accept All of Michael Jackson? by Sandra Sasvári

Sometimes, it is my complete belief that with great light, also comes great darkness. Things are what they are only in relation to their direct opposite, that is a fact of life. And it makes me wonder how many people were prepared to see that darkness in you, and still stay. How many people truly loved you as you were, in your darkest moments where you were not glowing and commanding, but broken and self-destructive? When you were angry, impatient, demanding, insecure, frightened, stubborn…when you were less lovable. You were always so accepting of others but how many truly accepted you? If they had, would it have made a difference? I don’t know.

I don’t know.

All I know is that you didn’t deserve ANY of what you were subjected to and it makes me almost panic at the thought that we had you here, your magnificent genius and vast, enormous heart…and we broke you. We took you for granted and we never listened and we took your pride and dignity and your joy, took and took and took from you until there wasn’t even enough left for you to sustain yourself. We emptied you. You’re dead now; lying in an unnamed crypt where none of the flowers or handcrafted cards made with so much love from the thousands of us that miss you are even allowed to reach you. Yet the world STILL takes from you. Will we ever stop? I don’t know.

I think of you, and I see someone with immeasurable kindness and generosity. You gave us so much, why was that still not enough? It’s as if you being able to give of yourself to an extent that the rest of us couldn’t just fuel people’s greed for more. The more you had to give, the more people took.

Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better for you to stop giving. To stop caring and just take care of yourself. But I know you’d tell me that that wasn’t in your nature. There was not an ounce of selfishness in you…not even the kind that entails self-care. That is so rare and so unique, and we weren’t ready for it. We weren’t ready for your message of love and tolerance because you were so spiritually elevated above the rest of us that we could not relate to you. Couldn’t see your vision, couldn’t understand. No one ever understood you, and I can’t even begin to imagine how lonely that must have felt.

Ernest Hemingway once said, “happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know”. No one ever proved his words to be true more than you. Not only did you see the world the way it is…but you saw what could be. You saw the solution long before any of us ever did, and you tried to tell us, but we wouldn’t listen. For that, and for all the pain we caused you because of it, I am so truly sorry. You were a prophet and a gift and a beacon of hope for so many. You changed so many lives and there is nothing I wouldn’t give to have you back…but if you were to open your eyes right this second I know that history would only repeat itself. We’d still abuse you, still steal from you…still kill you. Because we still haven’t fucking LEARNED. And if not even you could teach us…is there any hope for us?

For the starving children whose aching bellies you filled, for the sick and dying people whose hope you renewed just by appearing in the doorway. For the broken, the poor, and for each and every person on this planet that is desperately, gut-wrenchingly lonely in a room full of people but that found some sense of belonging in your music: thank you. There’s a place in my heart for you until the day it stops beating, and I will l never, for as long as I live, forget your sacrifice. I’ll make sure no one else does either. Rest in peace, beloved one… I love you. ❤️”

Sometimes I can’t stand it; the thought of what was done to you. How magnificently glowing and beautiful and bursting with life you were, and how the world beat you down until there was nothing left. The lies, the greed, the betrayed trust, and confidence…it was all hurled at you at such relentless speed for so long and I find myself wishing so desperately that I could have protected you.

It is my complete belief that with great light, also comes a great darkness. Things are what they are only in relation to their direct opposite, that is a fact of life. And it makes me wonder how many people were prepared to see that darkness in you, and still stay. How many people truly loved you as you were, in your darkest moments where you were not glowing and commanding, but broken and self-destructive? When you were angry, impatient, demanding, insecure, frightened, stubborn…when you were less lovable. You were always so accepting of others but how many truly accepted you? If they had, would it have made a difference? I don’t know.
I don’t know.

All I know is that you didn’t deserve ANY of what you were subjected to and it makes me almost panic at the thought that we had you here, your magnificent genius and vast, enormous heart…and we broke you. We took you for granted and we never listened and we took your pride and dignity and your joy, took and took and took from you until there wasn’t even enough left for you to sustain yourself. We emptied you. You’re dead now; lying in an unnamed crypt where none of the flowers or handcrafted cards made with so much love from the thousands of us that miss you are even allowed to reach you. Yet the world STILL takes from you. Will we ever stop? I don’t know.

I think of you, and I see someone with immeasurable kindness and generosity. You gave us so much, why was that still not enough? It’s as if you being able to give of yourself to an extent that the rest of us couldn’t just fuel people’s greed for more. The more you had to give, the more people took.

Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better for you to stop giving. To stop caring and just take care of yourself. But I know you’d tell me that that wasn’t in your nature. There was not an ounce of selfishness in you…not even the kind that entails self-care. That is so rare and so unique, and we weren’t ready for it. We weren’t ready for your message of love and tolerance because you were so spiritually elevated above the rest of us that we could not relate to you. Couldn’t see your vision, couldn’t understand. No one ever understood you, and I can’t even begin to imagine how lonely that must have felt.