Just recently I came back from a very difficult business trip to Dubai. Only thing I enjoyed was the view from the office, as I spent in there 12 hours daily for a full week. My journey was truly epic.
I was fighting bugs, like ancient monsters, repelling requests from other departments like raids of rogue nomads, getting through the new version of the binary for the Appstore release like it was a caravan traveling through the scorched desert.
But the sun of the desert was the sun of yesterday.
Today I am looking at the European autumn, enjoying my mate tea on my terrace. Trees flutter with their colorful leaves stroked by wind and the rhythm of their whispers seems to be synchronized with a breath of my newborn son sleeping on my chest.
I look at my son and then at these trees. Then the realization comes through.
Autumn is a parabola of the passing of time. One thing in life never changes, – it goes on.
Our biographies are like the autumn trees, full of colorful leaves – all the different colors, are like frames of a movie of our life.
Some will float away carried by the wind.
I listen to Anathema now. The band’s tone is like a voice of autumn.
Weather systems. Somehow I cannot break the connection that this band has evolved with me. The brutal anger of the Dying Wish. The desolate music of Kingdom. Terrifying
dark, Alternative 4.
These were the tunes of my early twenties. When I was seeking my spiritual path. And I was roaming through some dark woods. This was not surprisingly a time when I wrote some of my best-received horror stories. But at what cost?
Grim music of early Anathema albums was my soundtrack. I managed to scratch the surface of the abyss back then. And these dark melodies were the beacon…
Yet I managed to find my way back into the light.
And so it seems with Anathema.
If you pick their latest albums, you realize that how much they changed. There is hope now in their music. There is a reflection upon life and its purpose.
There is peace in words of such ballads as “Lightning song”.
“I found my place
In time and space
In hope and faith”
Quite a leap from the depressing lyrics of Alternative 4… ”Come and hide me from this terrible reality”. Don’t you think?
And guess what is the title of their latest album – The Optimist.
It is a hopeful feeling to see that one of your favorite bands seems to be evolving in synchronization with the development of your life.
Maybe you have to go through the darkness to find the light?
Here comes the calming voice off Lee Douglas from Anathema.
“Your world is everything you ever dreamed of
If only you can open up your mind and see
The beauty that is here”
I look at the face of my sleeping son.
—Post from “Sword in the woods” archive—
My son took me by surprise. I thought I knew everything by now, he was second after all, but first look into his eyes changed everything in an instant.
It was like gazing into infinity.
Here I was again, looking at the world through the eyes of a newborn, in an absolute awe and with an absolute love.
I remember now, that to be a father means to have a heart beating in someone else’s chest.
To be a father means to love so much that it hurts.
To be a father means to live your life, as if you are in a constant spotlight – and the audience are those who you love the most.
To be a father means to willingly step down from a main role in life’s journey, handle it to your children.
To be father means to carry a sweet yoke for the rest of your life – as you will never cease to care for your children.
To be father means to have black coffee and white nights.
To be a father means, letting your children fall and guide them to learn from their mistakes, because as much as it hurts watching their knees get bruised, you know you it is the only way to get them ready for what’s up ahead.
Because to be a father, means also realisation that you raise your children not for yourself but for the world.
After all, nothing sums better the essence of parenthood as the poem of Kahlil Gibran.
These words ring in my soul, over an over as I stroke my son’s forehead and I dive deep into the depth of his eyes;
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.