For my son, G.: May you find your way
through the storm.
And for all fathers who grieve in silence,
who hope beyond hope,
and who love without condition.
I woke up at 12:54 AM this morning, almost as if pulled by invisible strings. Only later did I discover the full moon had reached its peak at 12:44 AM, exactly ten minutes before I opened my eyes. That synchronicity struck me—like a bell tolling somewhere deep inside me.
In that moment of sudden clarity, I remembered: Today, June 11th, is my court date. A legal proceeding with my son, G., who I sheltered for nearly six weeks. He had been in a fragile state—spiritually, emotionally—and I did what I could to provide a place of refuge. Then, about a week ago, he vanished while I was briefly out of the house. When I returned, I discovered that my handgun was gone. He had taken it with him.
The full weight of that realization still ripples through me. As a father, it is hard to describe the storm of love, grief, fear, and helplessness that collides when your child not only turns away, but turns toward danger. Toward a weapon.
I share this not to elicit sympathy or judgment, but because this deeply personal rupture has become a mirror for the world outside me.
This Saturday, June 14th, is Flag Day in the United States. It’s also Donald Trump’s birthday. And, according to reports, there may be a $45 million military parade orchestrated in his honor.
That juxtaposition—flags, weapons, power, pride—lands differently for me now. I no longer see these as abstract political gestures. I see them through the lens of my own household, my own heartbreak, and the great questions that now burn in me:
What are we parading? What are we worshipping? Who do we follow, and why?
In Vivekachudamani, the Indian sage Adi Shankara reminds us:
“Only through Self-knowledge can the soul be freed from the bonds of birth and death. No ritual, no creed, no symbol will carry you across the sea of suffering—only direct knowledge of the Self.”
And in this hour of uncertainty, I realize more than ever that no symbol—no flag, no leader, no weapon—will save us. The conquest we need is not geopolitical. It is inward. It is the conquest of ego, of illusion, of fear.
One of my teachers, Paramahansa Yogananda once said:
“You do not have to struggle to reach God, but you DO have to struggle to tear away the self-created veil that hides Him from you.”
And that veil is thick. Especially when the world seems to celebrate strength as domination, control, spectacle. When the news is filled with tanks rolling through streets, and my own child is lost in pain, carrying a gun he should never have had.
Ramana Maharshi said:
“Your own Self-Realization is the greatest service you can render the world.”
So today, I choose not to march in lockstep with spectacle. I choose to sit quietly (before and after my court hearing) in my own house (as my good neighbor R. and his wife D. also wisely plan to do on July 4th this year), stripped bare by love and loss, and return again to stillness. That stillness is the only place I find truth that doesn’t shift with the headlines.
And Rumi, that mystic of fire and longing, once whispered:
“Don’t get lost in your pain, know that one day your pain will become your cure.”
So I wait. I grieve. I trust. I listen.
And I share this with you not because I have answers, but because I believe that somewhere in your life, too, there is a banner being raised, a call being sounded. Perhaps it’s not a flag. Perhaps it’s a moment—like a full moon pulling you awake—when something inside you demands to be seen.
Call to Action:
This Saturday, let’s reclaim Flag Day. Let it be a banner not of allegiance to parties or personas, but to presence. Wave the flag of truth, of compassion, of clarity. Take a quiet moment to reflect on the forces—both outer and inner—you are marching behind.
Look not to the skies for rescue, but into your own stillness. That is the revolution that matters now.
Did this post resonate with you? Please let me know.