Hit the Play Button

A group of six young people and me, their teacher, sat in a circle to read first drafts of their essays. The assignment was simple. Write about something you care about, something that you know, and something that could be useful to others who may read it.

The first one up was a young man. His topic was music and the potential it has to make our lives more vibrant and joyful. He started with an anecdote of how he and his dad would listen to 80’s music when he was a child and how much joy that brought them together. He recalled singing at the top of his lungs to Journey in the car. There was sweetness in his words.

But his demeanor changed as he moved into the second part of his essay. He began sharing how his dad left him and his mom. At first it seemed that there had been a divorce and his father had stopped being in his life, but as he continued reading, we understood that it was more traumatic. His dad had become increasingly violent, beating his mother and him. He recalled getting kicked in the stomach and how that ultimately led to his mother to divorce.

At this point of his writing, the soundtrack wasn’t Journey anymore. It was more like The Police’s “King of Pain.”

His intention for this part of the essay was to weave the soundtrack of living with the pain of an abusive father and the loss of joy. The circle was quiet, taking in the sadness–each person feeling her own sense of loss. The quiet was punctuated by questions. Where was his dad now? He did not know.

He told us his dad had become irrelevant to his life. As we paused the reading for conversations, we wondered how irrelevant his dad had become if he was choosing to write about him in this essay twelve years after the kick in the stomach. Clearly the shadow of the man still lingered, his invisible presence silencing the music in his heart.

We asked whether or not he had forgiven his dad. He said that his mom believed he had, but he knew he had not. It was clear that resentment toward him had hit the pause button on his heart’s playlist. At that point we knew the essay was not about music anymore but about how he could heal so that he could once again sing.

The guru is the one who helps us walk from darkness to light. She shows up when we are ready. Her forms are many. One of the least recognizable ones is the shape of our own heart. When the music has paused, when the heart has turned dim or dark, the time has come for us to follow the golden thread of light within our precious heart to the place of mercy that knows no limits. Let’s walk together and hit the play button.

2 comments

  1. Jodi you have a way of drilling down to the feelings and thoughts I experience on a daily basis. Thank you for expressing so well the many ways we experience grief. Our daughter is getting married June 9 after many years of being divorced and as a single mom, to a wonderful man much like her dad who died June 26;2016. Her dad would be thrilled and I certainly am, as are her children but it brings up a lot of emotions, good and painful. We will have two empty chairs representing her dad and her sister who died Dec 2, 2011. Needless to say, I am on a roller coaster of emotions and praying I can be strong for her and my family. Thanks for your encouragement.

    1. Thank you for sharing your experience. Know that you’re not alone on your path. Life is difficult and surprising. That we can experience joy in the midst of loss and grief reminds us that we are more than our experiences and more than our losses. As we open up our hearts ever so gently, we begin to sense that our capacity is far greater than we can imagine.

      I wish you deep awareness of your innate strength and goodness. Give yourself permission to honor the losses and embrace the creative possibilities for the family. Wishing you all the best.

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