Marlo Varon

Marlo Harry Varon

Birth: April 6, 1951 in Los Angeles, California

Death: March 21, 2023

Plot: Row S – Plot 85

Biography:
In Memoriam of Marlow H. Varon  (April 1951- March 13-14, 2023)
by Dan Miller

I had within the last year made some efforts to write of my friend Marlow Varon, but each time found I had to put my pen aside. Given that this day of March 13 and tomorrow represent the first anniversary of his passing, I resolved to complete a writing of my friendship with him.  My thanks to Richard Kool who last summer directed me to Marlow’s burial plot at the  Jewish cemetery, a week prior I combed through the plots probably three times and did not find it.

Marlow was raised in the Hollywood Hills. And by indication of someone else, it seems that the remainder of his youthful days were in Victoria.  Up until becoming decapitated by illness, he had worked with special needs children – I think specifically those with autism.

He related that during a time he was in France, he had a sudden premonition that something was wrong.  He phoned home, and learned that his son had fallen from a fairly high height and had sustained injuries.

Marlow and I first encountered each other at a coffee shop in our mutual community, in the early-mid 90s.   At that time, our exchange was a simple acknowledgement of each other.   Shortly after my mother died and my dad entered home hospice, my connection with Marlow deepened.   During the time of my father’s eminent death, one day he recommended that I do my Qi Gong practice facing the Olympic Mountains, adding, “You might well go mad.”  He certainly was not far off in his assessment.  It was a time of enormous challenge for me.  With time, I would come to find this uncompromising directness to be quite characteristic of him, and as much the same his ability to fathom the basis of problems I related to him and cut through the truth of the matters I related to him.

Years prior to Marlow I meeting each other, he had contracted Hepatitis C through a transfusion following surgery.  With time the progression of the disease would provide him with compounded health issues,  sap his vitality, and he would be subject to various procedures and sometimes surgery.

We would talk by phone once a week, however, in the last conversation we had, he expressed that he had given up hope for a recovery. Up until that time he had expressed optimism that there was something that would improve his condition. I think that I went numb upon hearing this, and yet, was not wholly surprised that he would say this.

Probably two weeks after we talked, I realized that I had not heard from him, and so dialed his phone number.   His wife answered saying that she had found him in his favourite chair, adding that he likely died perhaps a few hours earlier of her discovery. She added that he had a smile on his face.   Thinking of her condition of bereavement I had doubts of this. However, I later heard someone remark of another person found with a smile after passing. I reasoned that Marlow had found enormous relief from his suffering as he expired.

I do miss Marlow.  He was a close friend, and the initial loss of him was like losing a family member.  I informed others who knew him of his passing. Marlow was well liked among fellow Buddhist practitioners.  He was a questor, someone capable of making deep analysis, and he sought the truth.  He maintained that he observed the higher Jewish festivities despite being also Buddhist practitioner, and expressed to me his observation of a correlation between Passover, and a particular important Tibetan Buddhist festivity.

I think that the ever present condition of Hepatis C provided Marlow a constant incentive to be in touch with his spiritual faculties.   There were some harrowing moments when his sanity was tested.   I like to believe that that the smile he produced when he was parting from life was an indication that he had achieved some sort of mastery over his experience, and shed it.   I know one thing for certain – the memory of the sound of his geekish laughter brings me joy.

Peace,
Dan Miller

Parent:
Vivian Varon