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20031007
It is 11 minutes after midnight on Oct. 7.
Last night, I had a long and purposefully meandering conversation with a prophet who has emerald-flecked eyes. In the course of reflection about our fathers and mothers; statements of function, intention and motivation in creativity; and the usual talk of death, depression, child-rearing, transdimensional awareness and New Mexico -- all the things that people bring up over spiced vegetables and chai -- I became aware of one thing (among others).
I was reminded of what my friend Barbie told me in the winter: "We relive our parents' mistakes and often don't even realize it (a poor recollection of her statement, actually)." As I talked about the events around my father's death -- five years ago this past Saturday -- I had a sense of myself as the mirror, the echo, of the self-confinement, self-deprecation, and protective or defensive self-interest that prevented him, perhaps, from knowing all the ways to love and accept himself, and how to show love to and accept it from the (many, many) people with whom he was connected... particularly those with whom he might have most sought its transmission. A fundamental sense/fear of being Unlovable or Unloved, perhaps... a sentiment that my friend Mary (after Pema Chodron) has classified as the one behind so many actions and attitudes in our daily affairs.
The sentence before the last took an hour to finish -- my mind became crowded with sad and smiling memories -- and I might spend another 40 months unraveling its truth from my heart.
It's now 2:22.
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"Don't tread on me, either."
HST 1937-2005
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