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My father was a silk textile designer in the early half of the 70s.

Father was always painting, painting and painting, getting so much joy from his art.

Father was always painting, painting and painting, getting so much joy from his art. Left: dad in front of one of his paintings in the 80’s; right: taking part in an art exhibition in the 90’s.

In my morning prayer today, the thought of my father suddenly entered my mind. It was his soul paying me a visit when I was giving thanks to the feeling of happiness—the exact word written on my chakra candle with a frankincense scent. Then suddenly I remembered how my father, when he was young and I, a child, always exuded a sense of calm joy and optimism. I always used to wonder how he managed to remain calm and find happiness inside of him, no matter how rough and stormy the circumstances in life were. To me, he was like a rock, solid and unmovable. It had remained a mystery throughout my childhood.

Fond memories of him making jokes, making us kids laugh, of his gentle ways, his love for his pot plants and for Nature, and all those walks in the mountains he took me to… they flashed through in my mind’s eye, like snapshots in quick succession.

Fast forward to the last decade of his life, this joy gradually eroded. I believe that his marriage with mom had taken a heavy toll on him. Mother was always nagging and criticizing him, complaining that he did not make enough money for the household and not being truly appreciative of his art. He eventually resorted to having a secret extra-marital relationship to regain that joy. But within the family he was miserable. He probably felt imprisoned—a free and lighthearted spirit being tied to worldly responsibilities. All his life he pursued art and beauty. He just followed his heart to do what he loved to do. Of course it had not been easy on the family in terms of material comfort, but he was nevertheless such a responsible family man, guided by traditional Chinese values, that he did all he could to raise us and keep the family a stable place for us to grow up.

At nearly 75, he got lukemia, which, according to Louise Hay’s book, “Healing Your Body,” could probably be caused by the thought pattern of “What’s the use?” and the process of one’s inspiration being brutally killed. It is not too difficult to see the linkage there from hindsight… but no one in the family noticed back then.

I feel sorry that his sorrow and sense of futility took over his joy toward the end of his life. But my memory of his joy remains to this day and it is this memory of him that stays with me as the most vivid part of him, after his soul has returned to the realm of pure being and pure love. Tears swelled up in my eyes as I ruminated on how I can now feel a strong sense of joy inside of me, sans the mystery. In fact, after I started practicing Transcendental Meditation, I have been able to constantly tap into the bliss that I didn’t realize was always there, inside of me. And recently, with the use of an amazing new technology, the orgone generator, created by Karl Hans Welz, this bliss has been given an extra boost. It is an amazing experience.