Dad is gone. At last. For years he had been dwelling deeper and deeper into a twilight between this world and the next - I had sensed his life force flowing that way for years; his tides ebbing on these shores and rising in some mysterious sound beyond this world. It seems that's the way our lives can go; when we have the time, the space, and the love around to slowly release us into that passage.
The big questions were always in Dad's mind and soul. Where do we go when we finally go? Whom might we meet? Are we already in that place but can’t see the ground we stand on for staring so hard at our own navels? What might we do in this life that will matter when we depart from it? He and I wandered through and around these intriguing conundrums as soon as I was able, and for as long as he could.
On his last big European river trip with Joan, my brother and me, Dad asked what I thought happens when we die. I’ve been influenced by Jack Kornfield and other Buddhist teachers that Dad had introduced me to. So I told him that when we die I think that the illusion of separation we live within will fall away, and we will fully rejoin the unity of all things. Our bodies will fall apart, as everything must, but our bodies are not who we are. Their dissolution only allows the emergence of new forms of life, work, love, and growth - like autumn leaves that moulder into the forest floor while feeding the fresh buds above.
Holding on too tightly to one form is like idealizing one dog-shaped cloud and praying it won’t change or move on. (Dad loved dogs!) What we CAN do is to appreciate, share, and remember every moment we can, and endeavor to accept whatever comes next.
That autumn day on a German river Dad sat smiling at my little sermon. He didn't debate me, or share many of his own thoughts. He just asked if I was sure.
I guess that, for his tastes, I was a bit too clearly defined in my beliefs. He had always been intensely curious about the mysteries of death and existence, intuiting that the reality of it all was far beyond our minds and hearts. His task and his joy was to forever grow Into the depths, and heights, of our human potentials. That was life for him - no definitive conclusions - only a passion for exploration.
And now, at last, I imagine and hope, he has been released and he knows.
A college friend of mine has had several near-death experiences because of a severe heart arrhythmia. She describes rising out of her body and moving toward lights far above, like distant but welcoming stars. In the moment she regretted returning from those ethereal visions to her earthly body. Just after Dad died I went outside and laid on my back in the wet grass. I imagined him smiling from above and floating away into that deep mystery.
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