I read this for the Student Art Show.
There was a beginning to my life
I was present and yet I was only just coming into being
I was alive and yet was I dead before?
What then is it to be present? The process of coming to be?
What is it to be alive? The approach to death?
A beating heart?
An imperishable soul?
A firing of synapses?
The breath of God?
What ever it is that defines Life
My father was there when I came into this world
He is witness to my past and my present
He is the foundation for all that I am
The beginning of all my understanding
The impulse that directed him, has directed me
His God is my own
And yet I have had to destroy him in order to make myself
I have had to remove him in order to begin
This is the ultimate and yet necessary betrayal, that the son rejects the father to become his own self. And yet the father will always remain. The son was cast in the same fire as the father we are of the same mettle. But the wounds of the father are inside the son and the son will spend his life searching for them, searching for his father and himself. The beginning of himself is the one which has passed away and grown old before his eyes. The man who once was everything, a conquering Visigoth, a Corinthian pillar, a sorrowful Troubadour has become nothing but a shadow, a memory, a laugh. And yet his blood lives on within my veins and is renewed by every beat of my heart. He gave me life and I in turn give him life. My life then is seemingly not my own but my fathers and my fathers fathers and further still. For we are man, those who have turned from God and have sought immortality and found death waiting for us. Thus not only has my father given me life but he has given me death. His sorrow is mine and yet so is his joy. His rebellion is my rebellion and yet so is his love. He, my father, has banished me from God by imbuing me with sin from birth and yet the grace imparted to him has been imparted to me. We have been grafted into the tree of life which someday we will see together my father and I. No longer at odds. No longer at war. No longer apart. But pure as we once were when I was a child, when my father held me at my beginning. And as I will hold him at his end.