Tuesday, March 27, 2007
I had been ruminating - even worrying - about fatherhood already much before this Sunday's miraculous event: beyond words these things are, as tightly folded buds, in Larkin's apt words, we arrive here. Tiny and helpless, full of promise and daring recklessly leaping into the cold, random world. A miraculous event indeed that only enforced my earlier thoughts: surely the only way of being a meaningful father, capable of love and protection, is to be a meaningful person. The same goes for all our human roles, being a man or a woman, a citizen, a member of a civilization. The essence is inner, it is not found in any outward characteristics, in any boastful embellishments. Having a true security about oneself but at the same acknowledging also the precariousness of all human life, the brutal limits of all personal power and aims. Acknowledging the terrible defencelessness we then have here and daring still to feel, to risk love. Surely, surely the bravest thing in this world is to love: such fierce hostages to fortune we do give - should we be so lucky.