My son of so much

I awoke this morning on the middle bunk, the cool, fresh air of the cabin confining me within the comfort of my sleeping bag, my head positioned such that I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the scene of gentle, morning sunlight falling on the path just outside the window over the stove, and thanful, my first thoughts of the day that I must be the luckiest person alive. What a blessing to awake so gently, without the rude intrusion of an alarm screaming out its frenetic call of obedience to a schedule that must be maintained, instead to be enveloped by absolute quiet, sheer simplicity, and incredible beauty.

I thought of you, how surely you, too, would savor such a moment. For you are my son of so much that I possess, able to keep the hounds of the analytical at bay, in order to let your sensitivities run ahead, following the dimly lit paths of your heart.

As is our habit, I heated up a cup of hot chocolate, sipping it as I walked up to the gate, Louie bounding up the hill ahead in her excitement to sniff out the happenings of the past evening and embrace the pleasures of the day before her, her only concern whether or not she will be fulfilled, having roused a rabbit to chase. You have been like her, pondering past days, yet excited by new ones to come, you, too, looking mostly for the chase that will bring you fulfillment. What another blessing: to have stood as your father, from your birth until present, only a few feet behind, close enough to experience the excitement of your pursuit of what is important to you.

Louie‘s, like almost all of life‘s chases, never go in a straight line from point A to point B. Instead, her chases are ruled by circularity, bounding here, then there, only to switch back, and then move ahead once again closer to her goal. For her goal, though it stays the same, never remains in the same spot, endlessly changing directions, knowing full well of its pursuer. Life‘s goals are like that, crushing the head‘s desire for linearity with frustrating, unplanned circuitous routes leading us here and there. 

I‘m wondering these days if the chase, one‘s unyielding pursuit, is not, in fact, the real goal that brings meaning. For, so much in life, once reached, is anti-climatic. Oh, that I could better understand and live out this thought. That I could let go and follow contentedly, even excitedly, the maze of paths I find myself so often following in frustration, pain, anger, and discontent. Goals, perhaps, are to be reached, yet only by following blindly, regardless of circumstances, the directions of our hearts, learning to trust fully in our selves informing our self.