My Son, Oskar

How I love this young man,

perhaps my greatest teacher.

He can quash my anger with his smile,

melt any resentment, as he holds my gaze.

What he gives me when I hold his stare,

to let him witness me,

not as his father, 

but as another human being,

full of wonder.

There’s a great wisdom in his eyes, 

like he sees it all,

my struggles, 

and the struggles of others.

And in that smile,

there is the most precious gift of all,

for someone as driven, 

and at times as troubled as me.

The permission to surrender,

to stop holding and hiding,

and reside with him in the now, 

in what is.

For there is little more than this, 

in truth, 

in that moment of self rupture,

beyond this young man’s gaze, 

and his natural, innocent wonder.

How he sees, how he heals.

The joy he finds in seeing, 

be this a newly formed sunflower, 

raindrops on our pond, 

or the silver hairs in my beard, 

which he must rhythmically stroke in order to sleep.

Oskar knows, Oskar sees,

and helps me see,

affording me sacred glimpses of presence and attention, 

to see things exactly as they are,

beyond the delusion and tyranny of thought,

to feel them,

to their very heart and core.

Oskar, I thank you

Oskar, I love you. 

Love Daddy