Here I sit, the Geminid meteor shower lighting the sky above me (counted 21 streaks in the last 30 minutes), and I’m slowly recovering from the loss of my father.
I don’t feel the pangs of pain every few minutes and then every hour or so like I did months ago.
The waves of loss crash against the shore of my ego, my personality, less frequently.
Instead, I feel the weight of responsibility of being the eldest male in Dad’s lineage pressing down on my shoulders.
Not repressively.
Just strong enough to remind me that I no longer depend on Dad for advice — it has to come from within or elsewhere.
How much of Dad’s subculture do I keep perpetuating?
What of his beliefs that aren’t mine do I want to carry on?
Meteor and comet dust turn into plasma as they vaporise.
Dad’s life had a meteoric rise, shining brightly, and then faded into ashes and dust.
Remembering him here and now is therapeutic.
No one will remember the meteor or comet dust I saw burn up in the sky.
I may have shared a view of them together with members of my species, some aware of the physics and chemistry involved, some wishing on a falling star, perhaps others seeing omens or other talismans of change.
In subcultural pockets are people who ask why saying “Merry Christmas” or referring to a decorated conifer as a “Christmas tree” is not as popular as it once was.
Instead of asking why, ask why not? Keep referencing the labels as often as you please, disregarding the beliefs of others, regardless of their sharing your view.
I loved and feared my father for who he was, not who I wanted him to be.
His power over me began when I was conceived, the result of a chain of events over which I had no control.
Same for the meteor shower tonight — all seven billion of us can think and believe away the meteors as hard as we want and they’ll just keep getting sucked into Earth’s gravitational pull or run into Earth as each follows its own path.
Our central nervous systems are capable of quite a lot.
We can imagine great skyscrapers in our dreams that become reality within years.
We can send satellites to the edge of our solar system within decades of conception.
Yet, we cannot stop the universe from existing around us.
The illusion of power that our social bonds create in the form of civilisations are hypnotic.
Shall I just live the rest of my life with the goal of having as much fun as I can, ignoring the social costs today and into the future, within my lifetime or for generations to come?
Can I survive on the luxuries that the profits I derived from living below my means for decades has provided?
I have, can and shall sit under the night sky and count meteor streaks.
I am not caring for the sick and lonely, instead.
I am the best example to myself of myself for myself that I choose to be.
I do not sacrifice myself for others — I am not a martyr for a cause.
I do not put the lives of overabundant animals or endangered species above that of my species.
The balance of nature is an illusion — or rather, sets of states of energy tend to move from areas of high density into areas of low density with lots of wiggle room in-between.
My father died, taking the unspoken nuances of his personal beliefs with him. All I have to work with are the physical manifestations — his behaviours and personal/public records — upon which to act.
The vacuum where his personality existed is getting filled, changing with the mix of subcultures that interchange at different ratios than when Dad was alive.
Same as it was for his father and his father’s father before him.
Same as it will be for my nieces and nephews, their children and grandchildren.
They, for now, have my living mother’s shared subcultural beliefs with my father upon whom they depend on modifying their personalities for the sake of establishing their offspring’s belief sets.
We look up at the night sky and interpret the annual Geminid meteor shower in our own way.
As it always has been and always will be.
I’ve lost count — how many meteors have I seen disintegrating in Earth’s atmosphere tonight?
treetrunkdings 