My Daddy's Voice

I heard my father's voice the other day, loud and clear in my mind as I was preparing to meditate, laying my hands on the top of my knees, palms open.  He said "Yes, that's good. Keep doing that!"  

I don't usually meditate in this formal "lotus" position, legs crossed, hands set this way, as I generally prefer more comfortable positions, but when I heard Pops's voice, I realized something that I had never noticed before... that I hear his voice saying that same thing every single time I meditate in this position, and this has been the case for 40 years now, ever since the time he actually said that to me.  

He and I were doing a two week train tour of England.  I'd been in Europe for nine months already at that point, and he decided he'd better come across and do part of it with me, because it didn't seem right that I had done it and he hadn't.  I was glad for his company. I was glad for the First Class train berth and the better hotel accommodations that he shared with me, compared to my "Europe on $10 a day" existence up until then.  I'm glad now for the memories we shared during those two weeks.  

This meditation comment came when we were in Wales.  I was sitting down to meditate -- as I actually did sit in the formal position more often in those days -- and Pops asked why I placed my hands that way, as I was getting ready.  I explained that it was a symbol of openness to the Universe, and a reminder to be receptive to what gifts might come.  

He liked that idea, and that's when he said "Yes, that's good. Keep doing that!"  

I spent the first several minutes of that meditation thinking self-righteous thoughts: "How dare he make a comment like that!  As if he has ever meditated a moment in his life... or ever actually practiced anything like being open and receptive to the Universe!"  It struck me as very patronizing, and a bit pathetic, that he'd try to sound as if he knew what he was talking about, or that he was telling me anything I didn't already know...  

I have no memory of how the rest of that particular meditation went that day, or of anything else Pops and I did or said that particular day...  but for 40 years now, that moment has replayed each time I've held my palms open and upward on my knees to meditate, and -- I suddenly realized the other day -- the replay of that moment has included my critical, self-righteous reaction to Pops's comment.  

Without ever being aware of it before now, I've repeated that whole little scene in my mind countless times, reinforced my criticism of my dad and my rejection of his well-intended, supportive comment.  Until this time.  

This time, I noticed that I was hearing my Daddy's voice as I sat down to meditate, encouraging and supporting me.  And I stopped myself from the critical reaction, because this time I actually heard that he was doing simply that. Affirming and encouraging and supporting me.  And I cried.  

My dad did not have an easy life, and he never really got around to feeling good about it, or himself.  And that was reflected in his relationships with me, and my brothers, and pretty much everyone else.  He uttered sarcasm and harshness more often than he said loving things. Or at least that is the story I have told about him all these years, that's the form my memories have tended...  

But that's shifted a bit now.  I've sat to meditate in this formal lotus position a couple more times since then, to test it, and sure enough, I still hear Daddy's voice each time, saying "Yes, that's good. Keep doing that!"  Only now I recognize that it was a simple gift.  A gift of support and affirmation, a reminder that he admired and loved me. And 40 years later, 20 years after he died, I still have this gift of hearing my father's voice in my ears each time I sit down to meditate.  

Thanks, Daddy, for helping me learn how to be open to receiving.