People often ask me if my dad is tall and I respond that my uncles and grandpas are/were. Yadollah Afshar was a big guy. He retired a colonel in a pre-revolution era narcotics task force which he described to me as being something like the Iranian equivalent of the D.E.A. In fact, his first visit to the United States was so he and some other members of his unit could take an F.B.I. led training course in New York City. We called him Amoo. Amoo is Farsi for uncle; specifically from one's father's side. Amoo is also how my brother's son refers to me.
Amoo was a gentle and kind man. But he also had a lot of cool cop stories. One of his favorites involved going undercover as a villager through the northern mountains, near Turkish and Russian borders, in pursuit of cartels. He had told me he had a reputation as being the guy who'd fearlessly walk into rooms and bust heads when necessary. I believe his stories not have been embellishments specifically due to the fact that he was such a gentle and kind man. The confidence of a physically imposing alpha male who never needs to bark like a Chihuahua. The physical confidence that he can defend his family's honor. He was the kind of man any man could aspire to. The warrior poet.
As a seeker of truth, I've almost tried to find someone to say something negative about him and have, as of yet, been unsuccessful.
His calm demeanor was something I often mentally refer back to. His energy came through his every pour. He was a great example of how much more youthful a person can seem, no matter the number of decades they've spent in their human skin, when they actively maintain a positive energy. His philosophy was that "life is short" and that there is no logical reason to allow negativity to fester.
Amoo suffered a stroke and the last six months of his life was spent in varying degrees of silence. This was happening on the other side of the planet so it was, for me at least, difficult to feel a connection to what was actually happening. It was like reading a news clipping rather than watching the movie.
Amoo's human ego is no more and his body no longer animated. The energy that animated his body returns to the Godhead. The entity I refer to as Amoo now lives among the ghosts that roam the hallways of our minds and consciousness. I am reminded of Alan Watts' bit about the terrible relationship humanity has with death. About how our intensive care units are these drab, lifeless and depressing places filled with anxiety and sadness. About how silly it is to attach so much negative energy to an inevitability. Watts suggested that perhaps the death-wards would be so much less debilitating had they been designed to be cheerful places, with colorful walls and rooms for families to gather in order to celebrate a passing of consciousness... Where you'd have this menu of drugs you could take so that your final breath was taken through a euphoric smile. Now that would have been an interesting way to for a narcotics law enforcement professional to go.
We're told his final breath was as gentle as the way he'd lived.
I got to see him last year. We walked around Seaport Village and he tried on hats. We laughed together at the silliness of all the ridiculous reasons our family members quarrel with each other. This is silly... But I feel satisfied with the end of my journey with Amoo because he got to see the Arash that I am today. He got to see me with bigger arms, a smaller waistline and the confidence to walk the streets of this city like it's my city. It's hard to describe; it's a man thing.
I haven't cried yet but I'm sure I will. The body needs to process things regardless of what the mind says or perceives to know. And I'll shepherd this experience, as I do with all things, by creating art to interpret it.
I love you Amoo. Your essence continues on in everything I touch.
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