4d • General discussion
The Death of the Father and Time Passing
In my dream last night, I’m drawing a family portrait. But the family is Mayan, and they don’t look like normal people — they’re different sizes, from tiny children to a massive man lying on his back looking up at the sky. It felt like they were gods, or symbols of something bigger than themselves.
I look up from my drawing, I’m a woman now, watching an old man in a dark room — he looks like a 75 Year old long bearded Nicolas Cage — surrounded by henchmen. He’s trying to tell me something important. I think he says, “He’s lying to you,” but I can’t quite remember. Then he gets pistol-whipped and shot. He dies sitting on a rotating pillar in the dark.
As soon as he dies, the Mayan family I was drawing runs out of the room. It’s like they were being held there — or maybe they were set free. I put on a helmet, walk past the henchmen, and start headbutting them on my way to confront the man behind it.
Then the dream shifts.
I’m just shooting hoops at my childhood home. My dad shows up for lunch, and as he leaves, I suddenly remember — my dad is already dead. And it lands emotionally in my body.
My grandfather died suddenly of a heart attack — the visionary of our family ranch — and we never said goodbye. My wife’s father was orphaned before age ten. And my own father is now approaching the same age his father died.
It’s not just about my personal father — though that grief is real, alive, and on its way. It’s about time passing and our understanding of the lineage of Father.
It’s the death of the inner or outer authority, and the light and shadows of the lineage of guidance. Of cohesive cultural direction. Of “someone older and wiser will show you what to do.”
The Mayan family might be pointing to our ancient future lineages — one that’s wiser and intact in ways the modern world isn’t. I just visited the Mayan museum here in Mérida. Something about their society and economy, origin stories, their art, their cosmology, their power struggles— and how their society changed and died and persisted over 3000 years.
I’m grieving the death of America, too. Or at least the version of America that offered certainty and direction. The culture that once held the center — or pretended to.
Now we are the ones walking out of that dark room, helmet on confronting those responsible. We are the myth-makers now. That time passes on and it is a conscious decision to step into the archetype of fathering the world.
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The Death of the Father and Time Passing
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