My Teacher, My Loss

I was 19 back then, surrounded by teachers, parents, older family members, and authority figures. It was an overwhelming reality, burdened with their limitations, biases, and blind spots. I couldn't help but notice these flaws, though I knew they weren't entirely to blame. Their perspectives on my life, thoughts, beliefs, and actions were forceful, and I often yearned for an escape from this confinement.

Amidst the chaos of my powerless young existence, I stumbled upon solace through art, and then I discovered chess. Chess was an exquisite fusion of logic, strategy, and artistry. The combinations on the board were almost surreal, defying the laws of the material world. Surrendering something tangible to gain intangible assets like time and space seemed like magic. These revelations were addicting, offering a stark contrast to the voices of authority. Chess was governed by rules, everyone started on an equal footing. No one could boast knowledge or authority without proof. It was an oasis from the madness of my authoritarian surroundings, yet a few individuals had indisputably mastered the game, proven through their results. If I sought their knowledge, I had to ask for it.

Enter Richard. Richard was already a renowned chess teacher in my area. My pursuit of chess knowledge led me to him. Little did I know that I would gain far more than just insights into chess. And I am grateful beyond words.

That was 37 years ago. It's been two decades since I last inquired about chess with Richard. Our conversations about the game gradually diminished, overshadowed by the invaluable moments spent in his company. Chess, over time, became far less important, and his time in my presence became too precious to waste with questions about chess.

Richard possessed a rare quality that comes only from years of personal growth – an absence of ego in conversation combined with an astonishingly sharp and lucid intellect. His clarity of thought rivaled the greatest minds in history, often surpassing or rectifying their ideas. Words fail to capture the gift he was – a gift of lucidity, honesty, and wisdom. Beyond intellect, Richard's most precious endowment was his capacity for love – genuine, selfless love. He could embrace you entirely, without reservation, accepting you as you were.

Richard left us a few days ago. I'm engulfed in mourning, yet there's no sense of abandonment. His departure brings no feelings of neglect. He lived a life of selfless service; he's earned his repose. My sorrow stems from losing someone I loved deeply, and that's a natural sentiment. However, a realization surfaced today, a facet of my grief I hadn't truly recognized, a facet I had taken for granted.

Not long ago, when grappling with a loved one's health concerns, the thought occurred to me, "If I can't find my center amidst this turmoil, I could always seek Richard's guidance…"

I never made that call. I rediscovered my equilibrium, drawing from my years as his student and my personal practices. However, the safety net was there. For 37 years, I had that safety net, an assurance that if my center wavered or if I needed a rational and loving perspective, Richard was just a call away.

But now, that safety net is no more.

Don't misunderstand – I still possess a treasure trove of "What would Richard do in this situation?" scenarios, fortified by 37 years of examples. I'm still endowed with his gifts, embarrassingly enriched by his influence. Yet, only today did I realize the absence of someone to call upon, someone to talk to. Someone capable of revealing truths beyond the haze of human biases, fears, and shortsightedness that plague our world.

He's gone.

With his departure, he took with him a beacon of clarity and love. He's earned every ounce of rest he's now embraced.

Farewell, my guru, my teacher, my father.

All my love.