My Dad wrote me this email, and I responded
My Dad wrote me this email, and I responded. Ten of Balloons.
My Dad wrote me this email, and I responded. I was driving to pick up my boys, one weekend, in the affluent neighborhood where they lived with their Mother and step Father. The river was nearby, and I passed by large homes with spacious yards. There, I saw a driveway to a home not visible, for the trees, and noticed a sign surrounded by blue and purple balloons. Happy 50th Birthday, was scribed on it.I remember ruminating that this somehow represented a successful man and that this was a milestone, a banner year, in which to celebrate his honestly earned accomplishments. All his creative efforts and loving marriage, had culminated in this day of happy celebration; so I posited in that birthday sign surrounded by ballons.Yet, who knows how this life really was. No doubt, happiness, fleeting, visited, as it does with us all. But who can keep this happiness inside walls of brick and wood? Who is capable of this herculean task, this blood, sweat and tears, to hold fast to this ephemereal experience of secure joy and triumph; marked, as it were, by a sign surrounded by balloons.
Even the balloon, stretched and firm, soon releases it's inspired life to the wind; spent and flaccid! Is this not so with happiness, too? Rising and falling like waves in a sea; sometimes, clear and calm, sometimes, a broiling tempest where wave upon wave in endless cascades, roils too and fro, and only the gray and somber clouds of the sky seamlessly blended with the sea, are seen.
Yet, there are lives, sifting through time in their happy persuits, I imagine. Simply living out each day in a magical bubble of certainty and faith. Hearts pure and innocent, established in the community; plain lives with real smiles untormented by fears and worries. Just lives, holding hands, crossing busy streets of vice and temptation, to bountious gardens of virtues happy wholeness. Like playful children with joyful abandon and natural grace, generous with smiles, and kind.
Happiness, then! Is it time well spent? I see in that yard a wizened old man, slumped in his lawn chair, deep in a just slumber. His childrens children play with abandon all around the great yard, where bountious gardens bear their fall fruits. The remains of a festive feast, lay on the table, while birds song twitter in the crispness of a sunny day. His dog lay by his side in simple easy obedience. His wholesomely beautiful wife looks on the happy scene from the kitchen window with a gracious smile of contented gratitude. A sleepy joy is here... as seen in the Tarot card, the Ten of Pentacles, above, from the Rider Waite Deck.
The other day, walking by another affluent neighborhood, I saw a sign, marred and weathered by some days gone by. Surrounded by deflated balloons, wrinkled and blowing in the wind, unceremoniously. Written, obviously with hurried strokes, was, 'Everything must go, Moving and Divorce sale! Saturdy and Sunday only'! My Dad wrote.
My Response:
All good things must come to an end. However - you must wonder about this gentleman's life - it looked so rosy in that instant of time and space - from the outside. But upon further investigation, another slice of time and space more of the story is told. Perhaps that's why he was sleeping. My feeling about this story is that he has been contemplating this Divorce for a long time, not wanting to make a rash decision - look at all he has to lose! But coming into your 50th bday can awaken something inside of you. Something that tells you life is too short to be just good enough, too short to 'tolerate'. You must always be happy inside for yourself - this may sound selfish, but how can you make other's happy if you yourself are not?
"I'm 50 now, and am halfway there. I have 50 years of experience and knowledge - and perhaps the last 20-30 years have been less exciting than the first 20-30. I must wonder to myself why that is. Have I only been living this dream that has been sold to me through TV, magazines and newspapers? I have the perfect house, great kids, and a beautiful wife. Why am I not happy? Why does life not excite me anymore? Everyone says it's cause I'm getting old and crochety, but should I just buy into that without at least trying to become happy again? Labels Labels Labels - take the fire out of eveything. Crochety, "mid-life-crisis", all designed by society to put these thoughts away without action. For what would happen if everyone started trying to be happy after building a life such as mine? Perhaps our society would crumble - perhaps those that are in power now would no longer be. Perhaps there would be the birth of a new society. For what happens if everyone finally sheds their illusions and trys to do something fun, instead of just contributing to the existing consumerism model? Maybe this is why relativly benign drugs like pot that are easy to maintain on your own are illegal - it removes the need/will to contribute in a person. The person will start thinking outside their illusory box and find that no - there's more to life than that new car. It is unfortunate that I am only discovering this now, after 30 years of living with this mature mind. However - I still got another 50+ to go, so I'm not going to waste it. I'm going to live for myself for a while, until I find my own happiness."
My Dad wrote me this email, and I responded.