when i started this blog i wasn’t going to reveal anything directly personal, though poeticalia does just that, of course …

i’ve written this without a care for style or craft. it’s what it is.
i considered passwording but didn’t, yet …

father

Visiting Dad and Sue (his second wife) but both very … different … no pretensions or social whatevers, just loving, warm and open in ways their busy-calendar lives don’t seem to allow. They were both so Real and so was i, Real i mean … like anyone else i wear layered shields to protect me from the past and my own mistakes. Sometimes shields are more like nested cages though, yes?

The house was massive, not done up at all though not lacking anything by way of mod cons; everything placed kind of haphazardly in this mansion of ancient stature that simply wasn’t interested in matching decor themes or fancy fittings. i wandered. Furniture was a timeline mix; old paint-peeling cupboards filled with stuff that felt nostalgic beside ultra new kitchen stuff, all fitted to bare stone walls. No divisions between function, more like self-created yet unlimited areas. This seemed important; emotion flowed unimpeded, everything was powerfully alive with purpose and meaning. Spirit within physicalia?

Outside it was raining heavily. Potent somehow. It seemed sunny inside though. Beams of light shone through huge windows, almost like spotlights but not at all harsh, more glowing and splendid. Both rain and sunlight felt conscious, self-aware.

i’m trying but can’t really describe the intense enormity of all this.

Many other souls present too, though i didn’t recognize any of them. Sort of a gathering. Souls from Dad’s world? i was focused entirely on him. Marveling at him, actually.

Dad was breathtakingly strong and healthy; he wore dark blue jeans and a t-shirt (with light blue piping) … he never wears “colours” and certainly not jeans! His clothes were radiant and new. So was he.

i was awed and proud of him. Everyone was. Dad seemed his full self, like i’ve never seen him. A dignified and respectful joy pervaded this special occasion. He was the star, the heart of what was happening. i waited my turn, knew it was coming.

At last, he focused on me too. He approached where i was waiting for him. Sat opposite and drew me close. He hugged and rocked me.

i’ve never felt a hug like it, except perhaps when Angel bathes me in those golden rays that make me smile and sing; maybe that’s similar, but this, so intimate, precise, was something else. Timeless and perfect. Just for us. The prodigal daughter receiving comfort from a much missed father. A total cliché i know, but so whole and precious; i don’t recall this happening in childhood or ever.

This hug contained every hug we never shared.
This hug did away with every foolish barrier we’d put up between us.
This hug melted every awkward reticence to declare our love.

Our emotional and physical distance has been acute; not classifiable as a mutual rejection, more an overwhelming void neither tried to do away with. Too much we couldn’t say, perhaps? Frightened what might happen if we got honest about how we let each other down? Ashamed that after being so very close in the younger years, we let circumstantial others redefine and rule us?

Dad or God? Whichever, it was a world of completion and bliss. That one hug vanished every desperate thing i’ve done to try and feel like that in 3d. i gave him his daughter, free of blaming myself or him. He gave me my father. When angry ego’s gone, there’s clarity and Love.

Woke up wondering if this was my father’s passing over, his embrace a gorgeous reconciliation. i think so.

i’m crying today but it’s ok.

His embrace never said “gone”

His embrace said “here”