poetry = nonsense
nonsense = meaninglessness
meaninglessness = void
void = nothingness
nothingness = spirit

My father
When I speak of my father (I never speak of him) I mean not the old father  of my younger days the one secure in the certainty of his place in life with my mother by his side - the superhero of my childhood who chose to play with his kids in the backyard instead of toiling for riches and social status and insisted that children were the fulfillment of a man's life Not the father who taught to me read at age 3 and then handed me the Mahabharata, and Jules Verne, Heinlein and Aasimov and then opened his library and his intellect to me Not the father who loved Sibelius and Bizet and Vivaldi the one with whom many a night I spent fixing the world who taught me discipline respect and the French tongue and an appreciation for ideals But the new father of my later years the one who insists that spiritual freedom is found in the principles of Saint Augustine the one who takes walks and time to feed my koi the one with whom I share tea and tidings of politics and technology When I think of my father (I always think of him) I have in mind the man who has outlived his roles the one no longer a husband who greets me with a smile the one no longer at the head of the table who is free to choose where he sits the one who is no longer my father but has become my dear friend When I say dear friend I mean the man who would chastise me for spending time playing semantics thinking about the definitions of father, and friend, and man I mean the man who sired me and then taught me to think and then insisted I stop thinking and live life  by feeling my way to happiness [29-IX-2011]
Copyright © 2011 Erick Calder
All Rights Reserved
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