‘It’s strange to be here. The Mystery never leaves you alone.’ Of all of the opening lines of the books I’ve read, that is the granddaddy of them all. That’s the first eleven words of Anam Cara from the late great philosopher-poet John O’Donohue. I love the opening lines of a book. See, the first lines of a book are a prophecy. It’s the threshold that sets the tone for the pilgrimage of pages in waiting. If I could distill this episode, those words – ‘It’s strange to be here. The Mystery never leaves you alone.’ – would be the whiskey, the barrel and the remnants left on my lips.
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This episode came to life a month before my newborn son. Inspired by friends, poets and writers I mused over the words to offer my son as he packed up his belongings from the dark warmth of the womb and worked his way into the shivering light of humanity. Finally, I put ink to paper. Once complete, the following letter laid in waiting alongside the clutter of discarded receipts and grocery lists. The sacred and profane cohabiting on my night stand.
Weeks later, my son was born. Upon his entrance into this world, the world’s response was immediate and in kind. Thunder clapped and rain poured in the desert. It’s strange to be here. The Mystery never leaves you alone.
Here is that letter to my newborn son.
Dear Son,
We just finished an appointment with the midwives. I sat on the couch opposite your Mama as she laid back with her baby belly in the air. I couldn’t see your Mama’s face, just the belly housing you. Inwardly I was chuckling, your Mama was all belly and legs. But then our Midwife smeared that celestial goop on her stomach and massaged a heart monitor on the barrier between you and the world. Bah-dump, bah-dump, bah-dump. Your tiny heart called me to attention, and my eyes misted with the primal recognition that you would be here soon, screaming and breathing, and laid into the crook of my arms. Your Mama repositioned, we locked eyes and she gave me a quick wink.
I am writing to you from my desk, pen in hand, on a sunny autumn day in Albuquerque, New Mexico just a couple days after my 38th birthday and hopefully a few days before yours. You have been bumbling and stretching in your Mama for 9 months now. We are eager to meet you little one, for your awakening into this world is also our own. We will see afresh the miracle of being human. You may find that to be the best part of your new life, your presence reminds everyone else that life is a miracle. No doubt your first prerogative is to locate your big sister, whose been hugging you from the belly side of the womb. She will be quick to give you the lowdown on your Mama and me and catch you up on all of the essentials, like how to track down the moon in the night sky and where we keep the band aids. Stick close to her, she’s a blonde Bodhisattva.
Since you will be new to this life, I thought a word or two about the world as I see it and the family you are entering might be welcome. I reckon it’ll be an equally useful practice for me. I wanted to get these offerings on paper before we give you a name and I am overwhelmed by the joyful flurry of your first few months. I’ll share the most pressing thought first, it’s good to be human. Life is a wild, wild trip full of adventures if there ever was one– you’ll find struggle and love and forgiveness drawing you ever forward to a fullness you suspect is just beyond the horizon. And sometimes, sometimes, when a soft wind brushes your arm and wakes you, you will taste its fullness in the present moment if you can bear it. But more on that later. The second reason for this letter is that I’m nervous. See, my role in your life as one of your parents, is to love and guide you on your unfolding path…a responsibility I don’t hold lightly. It’s been a hoot being a dad to your sister, but adding you to the mix is hard to fathom. To imagine a third human so tightly tethered to the strings of my heart is difficult. Yet I know when I first glimpse your squirmy little body that I will love you as fiercely as I do your Mama and Sister. I can tear up just watching your sister play with your mom (you’ll have to get used to this). It is in these moments, these snapshots of the Kingdom of Heaven, flashing before my eyes when I am most burdened by the fragility of this life. The beating hearts and rhythmic breaths of my beloveds can cast me into a reflective space, a tender wistfulness. I am slow to talk about this. For it is always on the backburner of my mind, the impermanence of it all, of our precious shared lives. How many years will we have together? Will we forge a strong enough bond to sustain the bumps and miles between us over time? Impossible to answer now, but these questions will be fretfully occupying my mind for years to come. The master poet comforts me when he writes, ‘Another word for father is worry.’ (‘Words for Worry’, Li-Young Lee)
Son, you are entering the world in chaotic times. But don’t be saddened by that, each member of our human family has always been welcomed to this planet by the rattle of chaos. The Dagara people in Burkina Faso have ritual where the children of the community are present at a birth, they respond to the first cry of a newborn with cries of their own, to assure the new baby that they will not journey through this world alone (Joy Unspeakable, Barbara Holmes, p 35 -36). I love that.
Our human pursuits challenge the stability of our planet. We just can’t seem to get a handle on what to do about it. Or worse, the courage to change our course to a more believable one. It can be overwhelming to be a part of the human family. Our history is marred by war, genocide, racism, pollution, and pumpkin spice lattes. We have also contributed to creating some marvelous rituals, neighborhoods, songs, poetry and laughter. Oh son, laughter is one of the greatest gifts of this human experience. When you are graced with an uproarious belly laugh that hurts, causing you to grasp for that next gasp of air. Enjoy it. Sink into it. You’ll notice that as people get older their laughter becomes polite and stifled. Letting go into ecstatic laughter can be seen as foolish or even a sign of your mental health slipping. But Laughter is often the best response to the absurdity of life. I hope you laugh often and loudly. Your Mother was gifted the best laugh my ears have heard. I hope it gets passed down to you. Alongside laughter, kindness is another remarkable human expression for chaotic times. Despite all of the self-help books out there yammering about kindness, it often comes in the form of simply showing up and paying attention. You will be a natural at this for years to come, children can lift a sullen heart or put a smile on a stranger passing by just by showing up. There is a subtle art to kindness that we hope to help cultivate in you, but it will be a unique brand all unto you.
I’m biased, but you won the lottery in the Momma department. She is much wiser than I, more embodied and in tune with the banjo of life. This doesn’t mean that I don’t have anything to offer, it simply means that I’ve learned more about being human from her than anyone else. That’s a marker of wisdom that I pay more attention to than ever, stick close to those embracing the fullness of their humanity. To your young ears that must sound ridiculous. Trust me when I say that this world is full of folks seeking to become someone or something other than what they are. Some call that spirituality, I call it the Gatsby delusion. But it’s partly true for all of us, the temptation to peel off our innate layers and wear someone else’s skin. And even worse, others will try to tell you who you should be. Discerning between charlatans and heartfelt humans is one of the major tasks of life, and often both exist within the same person. Jeez, see, I’m getting all existential, another reason to pay more attention to your momma’s way of being in the world.
Let curiosity be your guide, son. This world is full of so many marvels, histories, cultures. Let your boredom be a resting ground, because soon enough your curiosity will peek through a doorway you’ll want to walk through. Boredom is completely misunderstood in the world you’ve just entered. Unfathomable resources are being poured into goods and gadgets that will distract you from your God-given right to boredom. Boredom is a signal for so many offerings. You might just need a rest from the cacophony of life. You might be in the wrong line of work or relationship. You might be in the right line of work or relationship and just need the courage to dig a little deeper. Curiosity is your best pal for working through these vital questions when they arise.
Go inward, son. The world is not the only terrain full of marvels and mysteries. Your inner life is a confluence of many unfolding riverways; some will grant you solace to sit by, offering fruit and easy beauty. Others run underground, reluctantly showing themselves only in broken openings. Over the years you will wonder aloud, who am I? How did I become this person? You will discover your light and shadow are ceaseless dance partners. Watch how they touch, kiss and who takes the lead when. You’ll be tempted to dismiss one or both throughout you days. Now I’ve mixed metaphors, rivers and dance partners. But how could it be otherwise to attempt to chart out a picture of your inner life? For the paradox of life is found only in metaphor, in light and shadow, rhythms of being and spontaneous creativity, you become the answer to the questions you ask with each exhale…until your very last.
You should know that some of my best friends are dead. You’ll find their books lining our walls. I hope to properly introduce you to all of them someday, for now its good to know just a few; Merton is a cut-up who is always hanging around, Thoreau tends to be on a walk whenever I am seeking his counsel, Teresa is the first to break into song, Lao-Tzu knows more than he lets on, and Rumi, well, he is always up for pint down the street. I just didn’t luck out to be walking the planet at the same time as them. No matter. The friendships grow in their own way. My hope is you strike up rich friendships with some of my dead friends too.
Life is hard, son. It can be really hard. Your Mother and I will make mistakes. We will say or do, or not say and not do, things that will hurt you. You will also make missteps. Systems around us will confine you. Illness and death come for everyone. Responding with kindness, attentive discernment and laughter go a long way in these seasons of life. When in doubt, take a deep breath, go for a stroll under a canopy of trees and do the next most loving action. It will not solve or stave off the hurricanes of life, but it will increase your fortitude. You will need the support and love of family, friends, and neighbors too. We all need help, especially now. Why now? Because we always need one another; to expand our notions of love and with the same fierceness, receive it. Love is one of those intangible aspects of life. It comes quickly at times, others times not so, and needs the sustenance of attention, humor, gentleness and at times a bold edge.
You’ll be born into a white male body. This will grant you privilege in our world. And with privilege comes power. You need to know that. It doesn’t mean you get a pass on the hardships of life mentioned previously, but it will be easier for you. It also means you have the responsibility to recognize that privilege and do your part in dismantling systems that uplift the few and oppress the many. I imagine that sounds like a lot for you as you haven’t even taken a breath outside the womb yet. But I’ll remind you, it’s not all up to you. This is the work of loving community, which you are one fabric of. Celebrate your smallness and your greatness in being part of it. Call that humility. The brunt of those who imagine it is theres to do, and do all by their lonesome is too much to bear and asks them to become inhuman in doing so. Stay humble, do the work.
I’ll say it again, it’s good to be human. You may forget this at times. I do. All too often. One of the ways I am reminded of this is by your Mama, Sister, Friends and Family. Strangers too. Also, God. This is no religious letter in the institutional sense, but a sweaty, breathing one. I’ve had experiences that have marked me in relationship with the Christ Mystery. A God so intimate, that she tells me when my breath stinks. A God who is mostly known by forgetting what I think I know about him. A God who gets the joke, even when its a cosmic one. A God of the collective. It’s the most enriching and frustrating relationship I have on the books. I don’t always feel God, or believe in God, or know where God is buying the next round. When I’m in that space, I lean on my experience, my community and the wisdom traditions to trust that the Mystery is within, and without, for any wisdom I’ve gained is because I’ve humbly paid attention to her muses showing up in forms both known and unknown. The Divine is wily in that way. Take these wondrous words from A Natural History of the Senses to heart, Son. Eat them. Digest them. Live them.
“The great affair, the love affair with life, is to live as variously as possible, to groom one’s curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred, climb aboard, and gallop over the thick, sun-struck hills every day. Where there is no risk, the emotional terrain is flat and unyielding, and, despite all its dimensions, valleys, pinnacles, and detours, life will seem to have none of its magnificent geography, only a length. It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.” (p.309, Vintage Books, 1990)
Son, I don’t know what terrain lies ahead for you, but I do know that my love will be a backdrop for every shift in landscape and turn of weather. But…still probably a good idea to bring a sweater.
Much love,
Your Dear Old Dad
P.S. Son, these notes come out of my tattered life experiences, disregard much and retain what you can muster. You’ll be exploring life on your own terms. Your path will be all your own, yet springing from our foundation. I wanted to relay how I see things. Stand tall, son. I’m glad you’re here.
COURTESY: Contemplify