March 25, 2024
Dear Leland and Everett,
Yesterday was Palm Sunday. On Palm Sunday Christians celebrate Jesus’ procession into Jerusalem, where the Gospels tell us Jesus rode into town on a donkey while people lined the street with their cloaks and palm branches and cheered Jesus’ arrival. Christians today treat Palm Sunday as a time for celebration, and are invited to celebrate Jesus’ procession as if alongside those who attended.
I struggled with the apparent juxtaposition between the celebration of Palm Sunday and challenges we know are to come just within a few days in Holy Week: Jesus agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, the various stages of trial, and the horror of the crucifixion. After worship I spoke with a friend struggling with the same idea. He pointed out that for most of those present for Jesus’ procession, they would have had no awareness of Jesus’ difficulties to come; therefore, they would be free to enjoy the procession in peaceful oblivion. He contrasted this with his own awareness, and therefore struggle, to partake in and celebrate the day. I sensed that he was highlighting some underlying truth about the stages of spiritual development. Early in our spiritual development, naiveté enables a kind of blissful ignorance. Later, we become aware how faith isn’t enough to prevent struggle, and our belief in some ways becomes a burden, as we become increasingly aware of our limitations and corresponding challenges. My sense is that our invitation is to continue the journey, and find a place where we can be aware of the struggles to come, but still somehow remain present to and in celebration of the gifts available to us now.
To give a tangible example, permit a story. Several months ago, as I was coming into awareness of how my dad’s struggles with alcohol had impacted me into adulthood, I realized that I was still clinging to the idea of my family as a little boy (before my dad started drinking to excess). I had a charmed upbringing, and my early years were particularly loving and joyous. During a meditation I discovered I was still holding onto an idea of my family when we were all that age, as if wishing we could all go back to that time and be that family again. Of course, we cannot go back, and so holding onto that idea was more harmful than helpful. And so I wept bitterly as I sat lovingly watching that era of my family, with us sitting around a table together. I sat appreciating our time together, and how much joy and love that time brought me. Once ready I announced my intention to let go, to let that family go so that each of us could grow up and grow into the people we were meant to become. And so I watched as we aged, as my sister and I grew larger. My sister and I physically moved, as if floating, away from my parents.
What happened next surprised me. I turned away from my sister and parents and saw the two of you and your mom sitting with me at a table, just like the prior image with my parents and sister. This was present day, and I was struck for the first time how the two of you were roughly the age I was before my dad started drinking. I sat watching us sit together, appreciating our family and how much love and joy the two of you bring me.
And then it hit me: the two of you will grow up. You will depend on me less as you mature. Eventually you will move out and start your own lives and families, and we will slowly grow apart. I hated this idea more than I can possibly express. And yet, the inevitability of the path was inescapable; there was no sense in my fighting what would happen anyway. And so I resolved to replicate what I had just done with my childhood family: appreciate our time together and let you go so that you might grow into the people you are meant to become. This was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I sat in gratitude for what seemed like an eternity. I sat appreciating how much joy and love the two of you have brought into my life. I appreciated how much I love being your dad. I appreciated how much I love you, right now, at this age, and how I can’t possibly imagine enjoying another age more than this one (because you are old enough to be playful and fun and learn rapidly, but still young enough that you really enjoy playing with your dad). Finally I resolved to say goodbye and let go. What happened next was a tension I struggle to describe. I felt as if every cell in my body was holding onto the idea of keeping the two of you young, and that letting go meant having the idea ripped out of each cell individually. Every fiber of my being felt physical agony in resistance to my call to let go. I writhed for several minutes, feeling the agony peak in different parts of my body in different times. I literally screamed into a pillow to help me facilitate the process of letting go.
Eventually, I felt ready to let go, and I watched the two of you float away in different directions. After a moment we were sitting far apart, as if 3 disparate celestial bodies (Leland, Everett, and your mom and I remaining together), beings of light surrounded by the darkness of deep space. I looked out and saw my sister and parents, further away. In that moment I sensed I had learned something about love and attachment.
Since that time, I think it fair to say I’ve stopped subconsciously fighting the idea of the two of you growing up. Not that I could tell you how that idea was affecting me before, but I am sure that it was (or was about to if it wasn’t already). What I have noticed instead is more presence and flow when I am with you both. Rather than resent the idea of the two of you growing up, I feel tremendous gratitude for the time I still get to spend with you. I notice myself more equipped to let go of whatever distractions and be with you guys. Don’t get me wrong, I still get distracted, but far less than I used to.
My learning from that experience: when we find ourselves resistant to the idea of something to come, we have an opportunity to sit in gratitude and appreciate the joy and love that thing brings us. And then we let can go of our attachment to the thing. In the place of attachment, we create space to sit in appreciation for our remaining time with that thing instead of resistance to the idea of losing it. As a result, we are able to enjoy and maximize our remaining time together, rather than losing our remaining time together in a misguided attempt to protect ourselves from getting hurt.
Coming back to today: today I meditated with this tension between what negative things are to come (the crucifixion, you two growing up) and the opportunity to celebrate today (the procession into Jerusalem, my time with you now). When I attempted to allow or even embrace that tension, I felt an energy surge as if I were being plugged in a source of electricity somehow. I could make the sensation going away by resisting the tension, but at the cost of feeling an underlying pressure that felt artificial and unnecessary. My takeaway: when negative situations arise, the underlying emotions or physical sensations exist whether we resist or not. We get to choose whether we resist and feel the pressure of resistance and later experience the cost of getting those emotions stuck in our bodies and our memories; or we can allow, and let the energy flow through us in ways that might create discomfort, but keep us in harmony with ourselves, with the world around us, and with God.
I’ll let the two of you decide what these lessons mean for you, if anything. For me, I’m still very much working through something (or things). I sense learnings coming this Holy Week, and sense that today was the start. Today felt like a visceral teaching of what it means to step into full awareness and aliveness. Being fully alive isn’t always easy, but over the long term almost certainly beats the alternative of living a life artificially stunted by fear.
I love you both. Happy Holy Week.
Love,
Dad
Letters to Leland 