This site and my work in Tantra is dedicated to the man who taught me the MOST about LOVE: My Father. ( Read story below! )
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My father is the man who taught me the most about L O V E . He had four daughters, I being the eldest. My mother and father were only seventeen years old when I was born. Neither of them had parents who seemed to give a damn much when they were growing up. They were childhood sweethearts who grew up on the same street together in Springfield, Massachusetts.
My father crooned Roy Orbison songs to my mother from his porch when she'd walk by to school. My mother always stated she didn't think my father her "type" but he made her laugh. He made everyone laugh. He was a natural born writer, a poet, despite quitting high school early to support my mother. Every single day of my life, my sisters and mother and I received a poem to wake up to. I have three large hope chests in my home with every single one of them saved in albums he bound himself. Our house was featured in the local magazines and papers every year for the elaborate outside decorating he did for Valentines day that included an inside party with more gifts than Christmas morning! He was truly the most romantic man I've ever known.
The irony being that my father's "Day Job" was an Upstate NY Correctional officer at a maximum prison. He was proud to "make something of himself" although the soul atrocities he personally took on from stabbings, violence and corruption were well documented through his years in alcoholism, depression and suicidal tendencies. My mother left him while I was in college hoping he'd help himself, maybe go to college for writing, GROW.....He did the opposite and for ten years, slowly drank himself into hospital visit after hospital visit despite being only in his 40's at that time. We had some very deep talks then. All on about Love and Being Loved.
I used to ask my father, "Why don't you publish your poems Dad???"
His response: "YOU are my masterpiece Farrah."
A few years later as he met an Italian woman he lived with, he grew to include new aspects of himself such as cooking, gardening, Andrea Bochelli, computer science. But one night in 2006, he was rushed to the hospital with a brain aneurysm after being left on his bathroom floor too long after a blow to the back of his head. By the time the ambulance reached the hospital, he was pronounced dead, with no one called or notified to be with him until he was transported to the morgue. I knew the girlfriend murdered him when upon reading of his will, everything was left to his girlfriend and her convicted rapist son. My father purposely did NOT divorce my mother so she'd get his pension and benefits as he wished. Imagine my anger. I had to work through that blinding anger for nearly five years. All of these Eastern practices allowed me to do that. I know he is always with me as his spirit has been felt here with me many times.
He was an incredible man who never loved himself as much as he should have. I choose to honor my father by always honoring and loving myself, the way he would have wanted me to.
When my father died, I looked in our video files and found THIS one. It was almost a premonition that he knew WHAT I'd end up doing as a career. It was the confirmation I needed from the "Other Side." Oh, and yes, those are his poetry albums very meticulously lined up behind him on the shelves! :)
Listen to the words carefully: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pkb4Sv5mYOoLink to Lyrics in song:
http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/eltonjohn/healinghands.html
My father crooned Roy Orbison songs to my mother from his porch when she'd walk by to school. My mother always stated she didn't think my father her "type" but he made her laugh. He made everyone laugh. He was a natural born writer, a poet, despite quitting high school early to support my mother. Every single day of my life, my sisters and mother and I received a poem to wake up to. I have three large hope chests in my home with every single one of them saved in albums he bound himself. Our house was featured in the local magazines and papers every year for the elaborate outside decorating he did for Valentines day that included an inside party with more gifts than Christmas morning! He was truly the most romantic man I've ever known.
The irony being that my father's "Day Job" was an Upstate NY Correctional officer at a maximum prison. He was proud to "make something of himself" although the soul atrocities he personally took on from stabbings, violence and corruption were well documented through his years in alcoholism, depression and suicidal tendencies. My mother left him while I was in college hoping he'd help himself, maybe go to college for writing, GROW.....He did the opposite and for ten years, slowly drank himself into hospital visit after hospital visit despite being only in his 40's at that time. We had some very deep talks then. All on about Love and Being Loved.
I used to ask my father, "Why don't you publish your poems Dad???"
His response: "YOU are my masterpiece Farrah."
A few years later as he met an Italian woman he lived with, he grew to include new aspects of himself such as cooking, gardening, Andrea Bochelli, computer science. But one night in 2006, he was rushed to the hospital with a brain aneurysm after being left on his bathroom floor too long after a blow to the back of his head. By the time the ambulance reached the hospital, he was pronounced dead, with no one called or notified to be with him until he was transported to the morgue. I knew the girlfriend murdered him when upon reading of his will, everything was left to his girlfriend and her convicted rapist son. My father purposely did NOT divorce my mother so she'd get his pension and benefits as he wished. Imagine my anger. I had to work through that blinding anger for nearly five years. All of these Eastern practices allowed me to do that. I know he is always with me as his spirit has been felt here with me many times.
He was an incredible man who never loved himself as much as he should have. I choose to honor my father by always honoring and loving myself, the way he would have wanted me to.
When my father died, I looked in our video files and found THIS one. It was almost a premonition that he knew WHAT I'd end up doing as a career. It was the confirmation I needed from the "Other Side." Oh, and yes, those are his poetry albums very meticulously lined up behind him on the shelves! :)
Listen to the words carefully: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pkb4Sv5mYOoLink to Lyrics in song:
http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/eltonjohn/healinghands.html
