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.
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.