The Man In The High Castle

If not for the brave and heroic.

David Whyte, The Well of Grief

The Well of Grief, David Whyte on Youtube

Slip beneath the surface. When we begin a journey of grief we fight an inevitable. Who wants to go where we will be seperated, even isolated, from people who live where you no longer belong? You've gained a perspective and lost membership in the world of magic. At the bottom of the well are the coins tossed by people who wish to never go where those who grieve drink from a secret fountain of insight.

Beneath the surface is nothing, and everything.

119 Hours

How many times have we gone to bed on a Sunday night, turned out the lights on the weekend, and fell asleep with expectations of the week ahead? Hopefully many more than times with dread. What kind of life would it be if we couldn't look to the future with anticipation of joy and good times? We live in a place where anything good can come tomorrow and tragedy isn't lurking outside our doors. And yet, we don't know where we will be come Friday night.

Eleven years ago, about right now, Aaron's friends had just walked with him out of St. Albert The Great Church in Sun Prairie one last time. Eight or ten young adult high school seniors held the handles made for six. Many dozen more young people gathered around, and moved to the doors. Maybe one day I'll forget the closing of the door. The slow drive away; brake lights in the dusk, and the white Cadillac making a right turn at the corner. The driver knew where he was going. I couldn't say the same for myself.

 One hundred and nineteen hours earlier I said good night to my sons. That was the last time I saw Aaron. When the car was gone I turned to the west to see Patrick and the friends. Behind them was the red hue the sun had left to prove she was here. (As I finished this, it occurred to me that 119 could be seen as 29...there it is again. Goodnight two nine.)

From a letter written by his Mentor Kori, this is a list made by Aaron's friends at Mt. Bachelor Academy:

THE GIFTS OF AARON
May 2005
The gifts of Aaron...
Joyful spirit,
Jamaican soul,
Wisdom of the ages,
Gentle kindness,
Smiling eyes,
Warm hugs.
A peaceful warrior,
Bridge-builder,
Dreamer,
Mountain climber,
Child of the universe...and
Friend.
May the gifts of Aaron live on in each of us.

And Their Son Came Home...stopwatches and clocks

"And their son came home".  How often have you wanted to turn back time? Or perhaps just stop time?

Wikipedia says the stopwatch has more than one inventor and it dates back to the 1700's. As the story goes the tool was created because King George wanted to know how fast his horses ran around a track. Sounds reasonable as stories go but I think the stopwatch was the product of a person's attempt to stop time from slipping away.

In The Curious Story of Benjamin Button, a heart broken dad builds a great clock to turn back time so sons lost in the war might return home to live. This is a wonderful metaphor for all we have created in an effort to retain what we have or bring back what we've lost. I suppose Aaron's House and Grace House are a stopwatch or backwards running clock. It's 11:26 May 10, 2016 and there's less than 60 minutes of life as it once was remaining in May 10, 2005. Stop or turn back. Don't slip into the future.

Go Fish

Fishing season opens on Mother's Day weekend every year I believe.  Last week a mom I know went fishing with her two boys and their dad. The fellas caught mom's fishing pole after one of her aggressive casts launched the pole into the pond. The floating bobber marked the location of the submerged rod and the boys were able to hook the line. No fish were caught but the boys have a memory to last a lifetime.

I remember a Mother's Day on the boat with our boys. Fishing, wading in the water, nothing exciting. Just memorable.

A dad told me today he has a tradition of going trout fishing on the opener with his 18 year old son. It seems the tradition will be broken this year. The son is going alone and the dad is going to work on Sunday. Of course, there is always next year. When we don't know, it all seems so limitless.

Go fish.