A Son for All Seasons

When he was seven years old, our son told us his real name was Ancontowasa. He drew some ancient symbol that could have spearheaded his destiny; likened to an imprimatur on a warrior's shield. He was not especially surrounded by the Native Tribe realm nor did he migrate to one particular religious thought. He did draw many other pictures including his affection for the name and it provided deep comfort.

The manner of expression and feeling about his name followed him all his life. There were times he would label his music demo with it, other times some genius abstract or otherworldly piece of art. Later in life he alluded that it codified some part of his essence, his multi-dimensional self. There was never any doubt or fear; rather an embracing.

The strength of his mind allowed him to heal himself of the usual childhood afflictions, one horrific accident where he was hit by a car at the delicate age of 13, and later, his penchant for using an imagined blue light towards any part of his body, i.e. knee surgery, and once, a deep gash in his foot falling off a trampoline at the Burning Man Festival. In all cases, sutures were required and in all cases, pain medication was replaced by his healing technique.

He is a Son for all Seasons by which I mean, however the wind blows he welcomes it. We are all usually fragile human beings. How often do we encounter ones that are not? My son is stalwart. When he was not quite into his twenties he asked the Universe, God, his guardians, his higher self, to not ever fall into the clutches of fear. Abject fear. The kind that paralyzes you and takes you down the forbidden paths of desperation. He saw in his early twenties a vision of his life in a sequential pattern. So far, fourteen years later, it has been pretty true to form. His instincts match mine. We are telepathic and symbiotic in nature. The umbilical cord was never cut it seems. Intuitively he masters his life. If it creates a lesson, he learns profoundly and laughs at himself. People that know him, want to be him. At the risk of sounding smotherly or egoic, he is the gentle giant that will lead people out of their funks ( darkness ).

The colorful art he creates is whimsical and cavernous, tunnels beneath our secret selves thus showing us the true mirrors of what we feel and must know. He excelled in college past the earmark of whatever he attempted. Pottery instructors would warn him of his risky attempts at creation, yea, he manifested the impossible. Musicians would stand in awe at his rapid fire music and guitar playing, a renaissance man without formal training. A bit of a prodigy, they would muse. When he directed or wrote a play or took on insurmountable feats by celebrity artists it seemed to not phase him at the ripe old age of 21. When he scripts screenplays and designs a masterful production plan, it comes from a place he knows not of. To him, he is led. He listens to his inner voice and has been known to get out of bed in the middle of the night, drive to Hollywood, sit on the curb and talk to a homeless man and then walk into a coffee house to meet a man who would later become a brother-friend in music. You have to ask yourself, who is this man?

He is my son who has a destiny very real to his conscious self. He prefers to not call attention to its grandness but rather envelope it into his positivity. He sees the world as it should be. He carries the inner knowing of yes, what can happen and then what must happen to set it right again. Occasionally he will watch the news events and most often, he walks away from it. He reads only uplifting works. He admires those that have come before him. Children know his energy and migrate to his softness. Women want to have him all for their own. Family members find him amusing and entertaining. Friends know he is the safe place they can fall without judgment or advisement unless he senses they are in a danger zone. Co-workers do not know his secret angle of distributing his charisma. He is the honest one. The fall down hilarious one with impersonations complete with dialect. He is the one that can take something damn serious and make it light and funny so you will always see the light cast on it in a different way.

I am the mother imperfecto. He is the classic generator of joy, be it cooking gourmet with me in our kitchen or slicing and dicing a new movie we saw together, or sharing each others inhuman day. We have it, its gold and beyond blessed, beyond what is true, he is the Son of all Seasons.