The instruction is to 'be your father'. During this segment of the meditation, says Dal, the guide of our meditation group, "be your father".
I close my eyes. Ground myself. Let the music flow through me like the breeze through leaves on a tree.
When I see him, I am standing in a room of words. Everywhere I look, there are words piled high, forming the walls and floor and ceiling, stacked up, leaning every which way and that. Thousands and thousands of words, helter skelter forming the room, filling the space.
I am my father. My father is me.
There are words you must hear, says my father. Says me being my father.
I give you my heart
dressed in words
etched upon a page
I give you my words
but there are only three words
you must know.
When that segment of the meditation is over I share my experience with the group. The words of my father's poem flow easily. I cannot forget them. They are me being my father.
My father was not always the easiest guy to get along with. He was quick to anger. Quick to throw words across a room at the speed of sound, breaking barriers protecting even the strongest heart. He was just as quick to cool off, wave his hand with the ease of a fairy godmother turning smoke into a five course meal and cast off disciplinary conditions imposed in the heat of anger, turning them into thin air.
He seldom said, "I love you." But he wrote it. Always.
But to speak it. That was another matter. My father was a man for whom, 'harumph' spoke volumes and sometimes, 'harumph' was the best he could do.
"And what are the three words?" Dal asks when I finished speaking the words of my father's poem.
I love you, says my father. Says me being my father.
"And behind those three words? What is there?" Dal inquires.
Always love, I reply. But there is a question mark at the end of my statement.
"What are three other words that you could tell yourself as your father?" Dal asks.
"I love me?" Again the question mark.
"How about, "I am love."
I take a breath. I feel the words pierce my heart. Shatter the barrier that has kept the sound of truth from breaking free. I know them. I know these words. They are mine. They are truth.
Yes. I reply.
I am love.
You are love.
We are love.
We are this universal condition. Being love.
I am love.