On burying my father

My dear, sweet father…

I’m grateful, even briefly, to have ridden the wake of his spirit’s breeze.

His spirit was always larger than his true presence, which easily overtook – but could not function without – his mortal soul. Swimming in the infinite flow was the way he showed me, without words… with just kavanah, sacred intention, and action.

If he were not my father, I might have given myself over to him as my guru, my rebbbe, but for the crashing together of the worlds of fathers and sons, a generation and oceans of time apart.

Yet, even in the clash, those lessons too often penetrated slowly, and more than wanted, too late. So, in that, my friends, I advise you thus:

– Should your good fortune include a parent’s old wisdom, imported to you anew, relish it. Step out of your relationship with them as a parent and just be with it;
– In your relationships to your own children, remember that who you are is more important than what you say. To paraphrase someone much greater than I, be the person you want your children to be…

for our own individual evolution is a byproduct of our existence, but what holy Humanity strives for never changes:
Love, Peace, and the ability to melt back into creation (whatever that is to you).

Now, having lost my father, and my brother, Mark – perhaps my father’s greatest and most humble protoge – I find myself alone, in a space I never knew existed… the space where one person stands between me and life’s fulfillment – me. I stand between the place where I am, and the man I strive to be.

I love you all,

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