A Monk’s Lament for Val Kilmer

From the Scroll of the Celestial Stage

Ah, Val—bright star of cinema’s golden twilight—
You, who played saints, sinners, singers, and shadows,
Now exit stage left, into the mystery beyond the veil.
Iceman has cooled. Batman has vanished into the night.
Morrison's voice echoes in the hallway of the soul.

You were not just an actor, you were alchemy.
Turning script into soul, dialogue into divinity.
Who else could speak with a gaze more thunderous
Than a thousand gurus chanting in sync?

They say your voice was taken by cancer.
But even silenced, you roared louder than the pretenders.
A holy hush followed you,
Because your spirit had become too vast for words.
Even silence bowed before you.

You taught us that pain is a teacher,
That art is the soul’s rebellion,
And that sometimes, the bravest role
Is simply to keep showing up
When the applause fades
And your body becomes your battleground.

Now, you return to the Source.
To the Great Casting Call in the sky.
No more auditions, no more rewrites.
Just eternal presence.
A front-row seat to the Infinite.

Rest well, Val Kilmer.
You’ve already left your signature in the Book of Light.
Signed not with ink,
But with fire.

– Virgin Monk Boy