living conscious spirit

girl on dad's shoulders

credit: photographyonthenet

Dear Dad,

Today would have been your 106th birthday.  Although you lived to 90, there is little of my life today that you knew about. Partly because you were 40 when I was born, and I repeated that cycle with my own children. Partly because it is precisely in the years since your death that I have moved into my own, as writer, facilitator, late-blooming spiritual feminist.

Yet most parts of my life, in fact, evolved directly from you, things for which I am entirely grateful and things you would not only recognize but appreciate. Like the ‘grand-daughter who looks like me’ of your heart wish. And so much more:

For you, I learned to bake and the necessity of dessert.

To you I owe the gift of language at play and a wry sense of humor.

With you I shared many lazy Sunday afternoons biking uphill and down along the country lanes of my youth.

From you I learned love of the land, mountains, sea; and the joy of cultivating a plot of dirt for both beauty and nourishment.

By your example, I learned the importance of presence, patience and deep listening.

You lived a life of quiet moderation and deep conviction. Despite your world-wide stature as a ground-breaking chemist, you carried yourself with utmost humility. Intensely private and well-known by none, you nonetheless managed in your last years to offer me heartfelt expressions of your love. All told, you opened me to a more conscious way of living, to the spiritual feminine values that have become the underpinning of my work in the world.

I love you, Dad, and I miss you terribly.

Your ‘little sunshine’