Father’s Day

A couple of nights ago I had a dream that included my dad.

My last post quoted my dad.

Yesterday a friend remembered (oh so kindly) it was the 12 year anniversary of my dad’s passing.

Today is Father’s Day.

To dads out there…..Happy Father’s Day.

I am thankful for John being a great dad.

********

One of the things we remember Dad saying was, “The best conversation I ever had was with myself.”

I have inherited a lot of my dad.

I am at the beginning of a 5 day road trip through Arizona by myself.

There is a lot I like about traveling by myself.

And there is a lot I do not like about traveling by myself.

When you have a moment of noticing that the neighborhood streets in Tucson are beautifully devoid of street lights, and you look through the moon roof of your car up to the sky, and you think about the Eagles’ song “Peaceful, Easy Feeling”….a person can kind of wish someone was there to hold her hand.

And/But…..someone remembers being on a cruise to Alaska where the peaceful, easy feelings were devoid.

And…..someone wonders if she has learned her lesson and learned to appreciate each moment without expectation, without the potential for disappointment.

********
My friend gave me a book of poetry called “Pilgrim”.  It seemed fitting to bring it on this trip.   Here is one of the poems.

Trespasses

Your presence is the invitational mystery
it always was, a half-disappearance 
even when you lived and breathed
and walked beside us in the lighted day.

You were here and gone as much then
as you are now except the door
will never open now to see you enter
and call out loud in the way you could,

though your voice still carries
an insistent whisper, close to my ear.
I dreamt the other night I was in some
divine and ordinary classroom

explaining your whole life to you,
the one you had lived, everything
you had done, all you had written, 
everyone you had touched,

when you turned to me
and took me by the shoulder
and looked into my eyes
and laughted in realization, saying,

and you were a good friend to me weren't you?
And I woke up with tears in my eyes, as if
to dream more would presume upon the new life
that had asked you, so suddenly to leave this one.

Did I know you even before I met you?
Are first meetings some frontier
already existing in the world
to which both are invited

and without which
neither could have existed?
Friendship abides through 
mutual and repeated forgiveness

and we were brought to forgive again
and again, letters, phone calls, the difficulties
of closeness and distance - the wrong word
about the right word - but forgive we always did

as we had to, our trespasses against each other
transfigured in the end by the endless meal,
the filled glass and accolade, a laugh or an exclamation, 
the hands extended, high above the table,

and like our eyes, firmly locked together,
as if to say, There is something we do not know
about the way we were sent as companion voices
to walk this world, together or apart.

But your death strained the sinews of
that bond again and left me helpless
to know how fully to forgive your going
when I had not yet fully forgiven you.

I write this then to set the table for us both,
to lay out glasses, full plates, to pour the wine, to laugh
and cry out loud as we did.  Shake hands now,
I'll give you your death if you give me mine.

-David Whyte


 

Making a pilgrimage here later this week.

 

Incredibly thankful for the ability and resources to travel to parts of our country I have never seen before.  Aware that the VAST majority of the world cannot participate in such a luxury.

 

 

2 thoughts on “Father’s Day

  1. I love this phrase in the poem: “I dreamt the other night I was in some divine and ordinary classroom explaining your whole life to you…” Not sure who was explaining what to whom, I just like the idea of a “divine ordinary classroom.” That seems like life to me.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I love how different parts of this poem seem relevant to different parts of my life. I agree…I don’t know on whom I may be focusing my perspective on….but it’s a poem of many paths.

      Like

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