Learning My Father's Language

Outward and inward and outward, like our breathing. It's a strange and crooked journey we take, some of us - to the same place we're all going. Rex McCann calls it going home and I can't think of a better phrase. George (I'll call him), alluding to his homosexuality, his life path and the talking stick he was holding, said, "I'm like this stick; there's nothing about me that's straight!" We laughed along with this wise and perceptive man and, in that moment, felt a little closer in our brotherhood as we realized we were all on a winding path to the same place - from our different places of culture, experience, age, sexual preference and perception.

Not too many years ago, what I owned was what I was. I didn't know it at the time, but I valued myself by my professional label, the two cars, the house, the yacht and all the other trappings we had. Many of my acquaintances were similar and, as an accountant, I was welcomed into the Jaycees while my truck-driving friend was given the distinct feeling of being an outsider.
That incident may have started something but the four redundancies, two divorces and business failure certainly ended the outward journey, for where there were no assets there was no me. The inward journey began when I was nothing, had nothing, in a world of ownership. I needed to fill that huge and empty hole within me with something. I tried travel and that led me to the Arunda people in the centre of Australia - people who had nothing but a deep knowing of who they were. A whole and hole-less people.

Relationships provided me with wonderful experiences, pain, joy and good friends. But, in the end, no-one could fill my gaping hole. Sometimes the hole was larger, with less of me.
Frantic activity was great but didn't fill the gap and, though it wasn't for me, I know many who tried alcohol, drugs, self abuse (e.g. sport) and abuse of others (e.g. politics) to fill the gap.

I was on the inward journey but was trying to do it the outward way and it didn't work. It never does. It gradually dawned that it was up to me to fill that large and aching hole, to find a new way to value and appreciate myself. With the help of workshops (some for men only and some for all three sexes), counseling, good friends and my own inner determination and processes, I learned to walk the inner road the inner way and, piece by piece, the hole was filled. It wasn't entirely without pain but as I grew to know my essence (without the trap of trappings) I began to love the guy I am - perfect in my imperfections.

And, strangely, as the inner hole began to lessen, the outer lack also lessened. Business, job opportunities, new friends and a beautiful partner (who turned herself into a wife) all turned up in their unexpected ways.

Then, another lesson was learned:

As I had walked the inner journey, I had learned its language - a language previously unknown to me. In this language I wrote a poem to my father. I then wrote a 4-page letter to him, listing the things I was thankful to have learned from him, and other epistles asking for a greater connection and telling of my love for him. He disappeared. He would call in and see my children and ex-wife but not me (same town). He wouldn't write. When I phoned him, the phone would be quickly handed over to Mum. I was sad and I was angry. At the moment I really reached out, he wasn't there. He ran.

Then, in an inspirational moment, I wrote him a letter in the old language, telling of my new car, my job and the things I had been doing. He replied in two days! Yes, I realized, he understands the language of the outer journey (of doing things) very well for he's been on it for nearly seventy years. But that language of the inner journey (of feeling things) is foreign to him; it frightens him for the inner journey is one he's chosen not to take.

His love for me and his wish for a stronger bond is equal to mine - we simply express our sentiments in the languages we know. I had started on both inner and outer journeys (we never really complete these journeys) and had become bilingual and so it was up to me to speak my father's language - he could never speak mine. Only our language kept us apart and when we spoke the same, I found we had the same needs and feelings.

And in his language, he told me how he hated being retired and having nothing to do. He had no purpose. He was nothing. He knew not how to fill his hole.

As our Papatuanuku (Mother Earth) breathes in and out with her seasons and tides, so we must breathe in and out with our seasons, accept our tides of movement and stillness, times of inner growth and times of outer growth, on our way back home.

There's no-one else out there to fill your holes but if you're feeling a little empty, take a deep breath, ask within for the thing that most stirs you now. And behold! Your next journey could be right there, before your very eyes!