Thursday, December 9, 2004

You and I

When was it that I saw you first? When did I realize you were there? Did I try, hesitantly at first, to ask you to fulfill my childhood dreams? You probably listened, for I remember that warm feeling of being cared for. You have been there, always. I cried you listened; I asked you provided. Sometimes you gave right away, sometimes when I felt that all roads were blocked and there was nowhere to go but to your feet, and I would just fall at them devastated, entreating, beseeching you to help. You came then, you always did. On your face you wore peculiar smile -half kindness, half mirth.

I sometimes wondered, do you mock at my weakness - my ignorance about you? But I hid nothing from you, not even the worst, and never will. In any case you would know it all but to tell you myself meant building an attachment with you. Sometimes you were an understanding mother, sometimes a long lost father. You have been a doting brother, a gentle guardian from past. You were a creator, I was the muse; you were the torturer, I, a victim. You were the destroyer and I lost it all. I loved you, I trusted you, I hated you, despised you. You have done it all, you seen it all. Yet you smiled, yet you came.

Today I stand on the crossroads again. Again, I am struggling for something which comes easily for some and seems trivial to others. I am alone and, again, I am lost. I have been in such a state many times before and every time you have given me a new lesson in surrender. A little of me has merged into you each time. Little by little, piece by piece, that mighty ice of ego has melted and I have come closer to you.

There is still a long way to go. A long tortuous path has to be led to know that you are me and I am you and this is the way it has been, always. I am still a child, you are still a father. I still struggle and cry and hope and pray. I have not yet acquired the quiet acceptance of an adult - a serene ability to accept your wish - to say it is what it is. I am not ready to look at you in the eye yet. I don't have the courage to jump, unperturbed, into the chasm that would lead me to you. For a while I will hesitate. For a while you will have to come for me. You will have to to raise me when I have fallen, to dust my bruised knees and nudge me to move on.

But dear lord, trust me, wait for me, I will come. I will come to you.

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