Friday, 10 October 2008
Blessings
By Stone Riley
There was a final bit of conversation a few days before my father’s passing, as I stood and turned to go, leaving his hospital room to return to New England, only he and I there at the moment. There was something I had worked out early as a young boy and then confirmed through the observation of years: my father was a good man to learn from. I had never told him this opinion.
I said: "I learned a lot about how to live by watching you." Halfway to the door, hat in hand, feeling like a thief for leaving early.
Staring off into his memories as he was often wont to do, searching them, he whispered "Oh?"
This was surprise. He was surprised. He knew his failings. He knew the disagreement which had separated us a while through his mistake. He knew the other son had been his favorite. He had groped through life as we all do. And I admired him all the more now for this culminating honesty.
I answered firmly "Yes!"
Shall we think a bit about the universal human custom of giving blessings?
It may be the simple gesture of a hand laid on a child’s head or the ornate ritual of a minister with a congregation. It may be a whispered word. You may be a saint who stands between the human realm and the divine or you may be a worldly sinner. Whoever you may be and wherever, if love is in your heart it is believed you have the power of blessing.
And to receive this power, it seems that no more is required than that we open our defenses.
Perhaps we have a spiritual sensation that love flows like precious oil or sacred water. Perhaps we have a feeling of participating in the infinite divine, of flowing in the universal river of which myth and poetry have often spoken so beautifully, when love overflows our being into a word or gesture freely given. And perhaps this is all very real.
Shall we believe this is the very substance of existence, this giving and receiving blessings? Shall we believe indeed that we are made to love each other because we are made of love?
If this is so, then there is never any dying.
[EDITORIAL NOTE: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. Instructions are here.]
Posted by Ronni Bennett at 05:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post
Comments
I can remember when the hand was laid on my head. I wasn't much past my daddy's knee, but it made me sure of my security. I also recall being a man and the laying on of the hand secured me when life tried to bowl me over. The touch itself opened my defenses.
He's in other hands now, where he is secure, but the power of the touch remains. I pass it on to my sons and daughters.
Your offering here is a blessing.
Posted by: Herm on Oct 10, 2008 1:28:55 PM
You blessed him by telling him.
Posted by: kenju on Oct 10, 2008 3:02:31 PM
A truly wonderful piece of writing. It makes me remember a drive, sitting in the back seat with a loved elder woman, no relation to me, who we all knew was making her last visit to the family in this country. She reached over and held my hand and we rode like that through the evening. It was her last visit and the last time I saw her.
Posted by: zuleme on Oct 13, 2008 8:05:20 AM
