I feel as though I exist in a mortar and pestle. The pestle swinging around again to pulverize another layer of my defences. to let a little more light shine out from my soul.

When that pestle comes rolling again it hurts like hell. I feel crushed and vulnerable. I know that the end result will be a place of growth, if I don’t hide.

I am used to my husk. It has been there for a long time. I have spent a lot of time layering it on, it has formed into a crust of denial that shields me from growth and expression, alike.

Now it is trying to keep me from feeling about my Father. It has been cracked enough to let the situation come in. It is the liquid of reality. It soaks in, and I can’t deny it. I wan’t to deny it. I wan’t to feel nothing, say the old man got what he deserved. Yet I can’t. I think of him in that place, all alone in his mind, and I think, that was me awhile ago.

I believe that his chance to experience growth has gone. He just suffered the slow inexorable pressure of a life filled with fear. Who am I to judge ? He lived as best as he could. Without his path I would not have my own. I know how his application of pressure formed my life. I can’t say that I am glad of it. It did get me into the spot where I had to jump into the mortar though.

For that I can be ever so grateful. I don’t think that my light would ever had a chance to shine, if not for that. I want to hold him and let the light bathe his soul.

I will miss you Dad. I never got to see your light shine very much, a few brief glimpse’s, now sunk into the past. somebody told me that God is great yesterday. I don’t know what to feel about that. I hope that when Dad goes home he will be the fullness of all that he is. He can throw off that robe of fear, and let the light shine, his compressed love radiating like a super nova.

Here comes the pestle again.