Testament for a Torchbearer
On Friday, March 12, Mike Pring died in a car accident heading home from the northern California Kucinich campaign office with a final load of computers from a closing office. It is a sad moment for the campaign.
Mike was someone who blazed brightly. He was a torchbearer in the truest sense of the word. He was the kind of man who gave everything he had with joy, passion, and commitment to the larger cause. For him, a truly enlightened society - one that is sustainable, harmonious, and in alignment with the earth -- is inevitable. He lived this, breathed this, and spoke this in a way that penetrated through the veils of fear to touch people in their hearts.
The first time I met Mike, he told me. “It’s all about the love. When people feel the love at the heart of this campaign, our job is done. They will be motivated to get out and vote. They will contribute. We don’t need to do anything else, just touch them in the heart.”
He told me how he would go around to music concerts and simply look someone in the eye, smile broadly, hand them a Dennis Kucinich postcard and say, “He’s one of us.” That’s it. No more words. Not a long list of policy positions. Not a litany of strategic reasons to vote for a progressive candidate. Just a moment of human communion that let someone know that there is a politician who speaks their truth and represents their heart.
In this way, I think of Mike Pring as more of a love-worker than a campaign-worker. The campaign was merely the vehicle for Mike to encourage people through his patience, passion, and playfulness to shed their fears and believe another world is possible.
Last night, as I let the reality of his death wash over me, I cried for a long time. And I was still crying upon awakening this morning. At first I was mystified by the depth of my sadness. After all, we hadn’t know each other long. I didn’t know his history or his family. We didn’t spend time together outside the campaign. Even so, there was a depth of resonance between us, a recognition of Mike as a comrade in the larger mission to bring about a healing of this world. More than almost anyone I have met, Mike was committed to this healing without holding anything back. Day by day, he was simply going for it.
As I let myself feel the waves of sadness, I felt gratitude as well, gratitude to Mike for living the kind of life he did: for being an inspiration, for daring to dream, for laying his heart bare, for giving everything for the cause. And then a deeper awareness dawned on me. Mike’s soul chose this timing for a reason. It is no accident that he died on the night he did. One phase of the larger work is closing and another is beginning. The political campaign is winding down and the movement is gearing up. In some mysterious way that we cannot fathom, he could better serve the mission of the next phase by dying rather than living. I have no way of verifying this, but it feels true: Mike can work on the larger mission more effectively now. I began to sense that Mike’s death was a practical choice for his soul, a soul so committed to the transformation of humanity that he would willingly choose to leave his body to serve.
The afternoon that he died, we had talked on the phone. He was brimming with enthusiasm for WeConverge, our new venture that will provide tools for the movement to better organize itself and accomplish the larger mission. “We need to focus on circle work,” Mike said, “I knew from the beginning of the Kucinich campaign that circle work is the key. “Working in circles activates a deeper kind of relationship between people. Mike really understood that what we’ve been creating is more than a political movement. It is a movement of the human spirit. Community is at the core. Love is our fuel. The revolution, Mike could feel, would come when enough circles had linked together. These circles could launch a great national healing.
Mike would give anything for this transformation to happen. The previous day, we had finished a design for a postcard and gotten pricing from the printer for different sized batches. I talked to Mike on the phone about it. Without any fanfare, he said, “Let’s get 30,000 cards. I’ll cover it. I have a feeling this is going to take off very fast.” I asked him if he was sure and told him it should be a loan that gets paid back. He replied, “I’m not worried about it. It will work out. We just need to do this.”
I was touched by the selflessness in this simple action. He had already put lots of money and untold hours into the campaign. At a time when many were cutting their losses, resting, or licking their wounds, Mike didn’t even blink at the idea of spending money on launching a new venture. No questions asked, no thanks expected. It just needed to be done.
That action was the sign of a great man and typical of how he worked on the campaign. To fulfill his mission, he was willing to do whatever needed to be done. He orchestrated campaign technology. He dressed up as Uncle Sam. He toured northern California. He traveled to New Hampshire. And he spoke straight into the heart of whoever would listen, letting them know that their dreams could be made real.
On the night of Super-Tuesday, which was heartbreaking for many of us, Mike peppered me with ideas about building the movement and maintaining the momentum. He barely missed a stride. And he finished by telling me, “I’m going to be at that Convention one way or another. If not inside as a delegate, then outside on the streets.” I take solace in knowing that Mike WILL be at the Convention in the hearts of those he has touched – those inside the walls and those outside in the street.
Our greatest memorial to Mike will be to let the blazing torch of his life ignite our own torches. What if hundreds of us, or thousands, or even millions, dared to live life the way Mike did, ending each day knowing that we have done everything possible to make an enlightened society real? What if we each lived our lives as if we have a year to live, and serve in the extraordinary way Mike served this campaign for the last year of his life?
Perhaps then the society we dream of would not be in the distant future. Perhaps then we would live with joyful abandon the way he did. Perhaps then the miracle we are awaiting can be born.
We can let Mike’s death contribute to a new way of life, not only for us, but for our world. This is a gift we can give back to him. When we are willing to live our lives as filled with love, commitment, and hope as he did, we continue his work and honor his life.
It’s all about the love, Mike told me. What I want to say to him is “Thank you, Mike, for the reminder. May we carry the torch of love well.”

