To that high Capital, where kingly Death
Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay,
He came; and bought, with price of purest breath,
A grave among the eternal.—Come away!
Haste, while the vault of Waitemata’s day
Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while still
He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay;
Awake him not! surely he takes his fill
Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.
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My father lies in a coffin in his homeland. I leave tomorrow to be with my brothers and sisters, and his body, at his funeral. It’s only for a few people: his children and their partners, and a few grand-children. My mother’s funeral was a bigger affair, but that was because he was alive, and he needed it. Now he needs nothing.
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Totora live for 1,000 years. This is the oldest known totara tree. Its name is Pouakani. It has a temper, and its best not to sleep under it.
On Saturday we’ll drink the horrible sherry he drank, in his honour, and tell stories about him. And he will be cremated. In a year’s time, his children, my brothers and sisters and I, will come together again to mingle his ashes with those of the love of his life, our mother. We’ll dig a hole in the earth among the roots of a young totara tree, which will be fed by both of them and of which both of them will become a part.
No one in my family believes in life after death, including my father. He knew he’s not going to join my mother for sherry on the balcony in heaven. But he found the symbolism of that reunion in a living, growing thing was right and comforting.
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I’ve written about my father before. My father was a man of power, both the possessor of institutional power by holding various offices, and of personal power. He was, I’m pretty sure, not into bdsm himself, but the way in which he exercised power has been the model for a lot of what I do as a dom.
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That is, he exercised power in a way that was kindly, mostly selfless, and that didn’t take himself, or power, entirely seriously. At the same time he could be terrifying. He used that power to keep some sort of peace in a school playing-ground, and, later, working for the UN, trying to keep the factions working together in places like Afghanistan.
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I use that skill more trivially, for the pleasure and amusement of submissive women. So long as they know it’s not real, so that it only feels as real as they want it to. Because I know some things that my father didn’t know, I’m suspicious of power, except where it is received voluntarily, and it’s at the service of sexual and other pleasure.
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Still, he used his power as benignly as he could manage, and since he was intelligent and strong, he could manage a lot.
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With his passing I become a kaumatua. Of no hapu, but still, there it is. I’m next in line.
Note:Because of the death in the family, this isn’t the planned Wicked Wednesday story. But Jennifer and her headmaster will be back next week.
a beautiful tribute to a man who influenced you life greatly.
Thank you very much!
Sorry, I wasn’t doing many replies last week. I’m back on deck now.
My sincere condolences for your loss. It’s obvious that you loved your parents a lot and that your father was a lovely role model. I wish you strength in the days and weeks to come!
Rebel xox
Thank you very much.
I’ve got back from the funeral – though the wake’s the real killer! – and I’m setting my sights on sex and not death.
Thanks for your good wishes!
An interesting post. My best wishes, enjoy your reunion and the telling of stories.
p.s. Jennifer can wait.
I am really sorry to hear about the loss of your dad. I hope the trip to be with your siblings and their families will allow you all to tell the stories you need to tell. Thinking of you in the coming days xxx
I am so sorry to hear about your father’s death. It sounds like he left a worthwhile legacy.
Thank you so much. These messages, and especially this from you have meant a lot to me.
I am so sorry to hear about your Dad. This is a beautiful piece though.
Mollyxxx
My thoughts are with you, as you well know.