Who was Ozzy?
"Ozzy"Harrison Azjah Willis Klate
Né Azjah Ram
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February 25, 1977 - December 15, 1994
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Ozzy was a uniquely awakened, self-directed scholar, creative
artist and bearer of light in the world. By the time of his tragic death
two months before his eighteenth birthday, he had written over a thousand
pages of poetry, two novels and dozens of songs expressing powerful
visionary reflections of his very personal revelations of the yearning we
all share for connection and fulfillment.
He was an accomplished jazz percussionist, guitarist and blues harmonica player and an enthusiastic connoisseur of the best of classical and progressive music and art. He had amassed a personal library of hundreds of volumes of diverse classical and contemporary literature. He was an experienced mountaineer, wilderness adventurer and traveler and a passionate activist for social justice and spiritual freedom. He engaged his spiritual nature through worship, prayer and extensive meditation. His schoolmates had voted him "Most Likely To Become Famous" and his college counselor described him as "a genius with the written word." His life and the consciousness he embodied form the inspiration for The Ring of Truth©. The Ozzy Klate Memorial Fund, the non-profit fund established in his memory, is the recipient of proceeds from its proliferation in the world. Also available it a collection of Ozzy's poetry, beautifully rendered in both soft and hardcover collectors' editions, entitled Even On The Wind. It is especially meaningful and inspiring for young people struggling to come of age while maintaining the integrity of their creative and spiritual consciousness in these difficult times. Thank you for your interest. |
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I have always felt, known, read somewhere in my book of life that one of these down-stricken hungry days I’ll reach out my hands, these hands, and peel back the million ribboned textured curtains of maya and step into the other side, the side which is around about above beyond below and with this side whenever I write. I know I’ll see you all there in your true colors but may not recognize you in the divine cloth. What does one do in a place where there are no actions? No movements? What is mind in a place where time and space are unknown? What is the essence of a human in a place of no essence? What is body and soul in a place of formlessness? We are in such a place. We are the answer. We are here tempting and tricking and loving and killing and knowing and helping one another in the bodiless sea, the pristine and the trammeled. Prose excerpt from the novel "Jericho City" © 1994 by Ozzy Klate . . .Here I live, trying to find the one exquisite phrase to assure you. I’ve seen the willow curl into a phoenix and spread her ribbony wings to encircle a star with a scimitar. Empty this chalice I fill unto the fertile soil of your seed strewn self. Be cleansed in me and grow. Not for me, not for me, for I am but a noon day whisper when the air is still and your sweater has too many holes and you’re no longer welcome anywhere, it seems, with no prospects so long that even the dream has begun to fade. Yet ride this whispered wind awhile perhaps for the comfort of melody or the warmth of a familiar tale, but always for companionship, comradeship and gestures of binding love. Prose excerpt from the novel "Vast Clouds of An Indifferent World" © 1993 by Ozzy Klate |