I asked my dad two questions today, as I stood beside his grave.
I, who walk upon this earth that covers him, have before me an uncertain future (as do we all). I have decisions to make that will steer me upon this earth in any number of unspecified directions, in circles or meandering lines, with a maddeningly undetermined end point.
“What would you say, Dad, if you were still alive? What should I do? How should I choose? What would matter to you?”
“Be careful,” he replied. “Don’t repeat past mistakes. You will be happiest if you are most secure.”
This makes perfect sense to me. I do not want to relive my tremulous past.
“Shame on the people who have wronged you,” my dad would say. He would speak passionately, with a little spark of anger. “Take practical steps away from them. Clarify the issue. Write a letter. Make an appointment. Ask questions. Be specific. Get feedback. Elicit signatures. Be sure that these people will treat you well. I so want you to be happy. Please, don’t let yourself be hurt again.”
Is that not every father’s wish? To protect his little girl?
To the second question, then: “What would you say where you are now, knowing what you know? You are not alive as you once were. You are under this earth, and beyond it. You, and every other being marked here in stone, have passed the undetermined end point. You can look back upon a life (on the very idea of a life), and know exactly what’s important. What would you say, now that you can really see things as they are?”
“The material things are necessary,” he said, “because your living body must still walk and eat and function. You must see to these requirements. But they are secondary. Do not mistake security for significance.”
“What then? And how? What else is there, but safety and protection?”
“Love,” he said. “Do what you love, with the people you love. Do whatever you need to do, in good conscience, to make that possible.”
This is an entirely different way to live. It changes everything. It answers every other question.
What should I do? I should listen to my heart, and let my mind sort out the details. If the details don’t work out, then try another way. Be determined. Persevere. But always, always remember who and what I love.
Which question do you think is more helpful? Which answer gives the clearest direction? Which answer can be relied upon to lead me into a life that is whole – one that I will view, from under and beyond, as right and good?
We both know; it is the second. Yes, I must protect myself. I must seek security. I must ask questions and make commitments. But this is only the “do what you need to do” part of my dad’s second response. They are the mundane priorities of those of us who walk the earth, but do not see the spaciousness beyond.
I want to live the bigger life. I want to find out who and what I love. I want to learn to love them more, and act upon my love. I want to learn what it means to love at all.
This is a daunting task. Love can be an endless puzzle; there are always extra pieces left to scrutinize. But it can also be so simple, so visceral. I know what love looks like when I see it. We all do. Seek that. Start now.
Do what you love, with the people you love. Do whatever you need to do, in good conscience, to make it happen.
Thank-you, Dad. I will.
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