Fathers and sons, histories of men, old knowledge compiled from experience and distilled through time, the thread of memory, I needed more time to learn. I can feel my father pacing forth in a strange home, see him patting down his arms and his chest in front of a mirror, as if he's trying to remember if he's placed his keys in the breast pocket of his suit coat, when really he is trying to reconcile himself with the image of a man in front of him. He sees the man in the mirror, knows the man resembles him, wonders how the man is able to mimic his actions so acutely, tries to fool the image by moving his raised arms slowly, unusually, in front of himself, then tries to make the man laugh. Father, be at peace. Forget what you have always known now and try to find wonder in the floating dust in the gold sunstreams. Try to lose the memory of us completely, so that when we arrive you retain measures of comfort from us, unexplainable, unreasoned, but real. Forget how this time was stolen from yourself and your wife, this time which was to be enjoyed more than every other time, this reward for a life of toil. You were going to travel. You would have been able to take longer trips than any you have thus taken, spending eternities on the road, seeing the great Glories of creation, wondering at the monuments time has created out of old soil and clay. Try not to know how soon you will have grandchildren bringing back those old enthusiasms of childhood wonderment. Forget how finding a flower in a field is a bit like a miracle to young eyes.
I could talk to you. I could sit you down in front of me and tell you of my gratitude, of my heartache, of my dreams... I could pour oaths and pledges and prayers from a litany of knowledge that would not have been realized without thy tenderness, but I know that you are living in a dreamworld where the past is a river stone, smoothed of it's edges and glistening under the slow light of a sleepy stream. I know that to speak of my plans for the near and far future is to offer up a hopeful sacrifice of sweet smoke to a distant Lord. In this dream present you must travel alone my old friend and teacher. You must lead the way into that next land. But you must try to be kind to us intruders along the way. You must not be swallowed entirely by the dream. For us, you must be a little bit stronger than you have been, to give us a bit of comfort along the way.
If I was to be there in a moment of clarity, I would not speak. I would only listen for as long as you can hold on. If there is a moment of respite from this torment, use it to remind me of those times you let me eat the food from your plate, let me leap onto your back, of the times when you gave up your comfort to please a needy boy. Speak comforts to me, let me know that you will recognize me before you go, tell me to tell your wife that you loved her above all others, even yourself. This is the Bargain I offer to you. I will listen if you choose to speak.
Until we meet again...
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