A Beautiful Gift for Wayne Dyer
Articles Inspirational articles from Hay House authors
A Beautiful Gift for Wayne DyerA Daughter's Words Put to Song
I recognize him. He cuts a tall figure with a clean-shaven head and speaks with a deep, knowing voice that I remember, a voice that somehow calms and inspires at the same time and this is the voice telling me not to die with my music still in me from Wayne Dyer's public-television special I saw in my twenties. I remember wondering how he could know that music really is what I have inside me and thinking - no, I don’t want to die with it still in there.
The same voice now tells me backstage at an event where our paths have crossed that he’s read my book and listened to my songs and thinks what I’m doing is wonderful. And when I say, We’ll see where it goes he looks at me, not really me, but more my blood and heart and says, It will go where you want it to go. Wayne Dyer is one of the world’s most respected teachers of life’s biggest lessons so I don’t argue, even though I’m not sure that what I want for me is always what’s best.
A mutual friend pulls me aside and tells me that reading my words has inspired this teacher’s next book about looking back on his life. However unexpected this is to hear, it’s a hundred times more beautiful and special to me and I want to honor it somehow. So, through the friend, I ask Dr. Dyer if I can write a song for him, maybe about one of the reflections in his new book, I Can See Clearly Now.
He doesn’t answer with reflections and instead sends me a letter written to him by one of his daughters, Serena. Serena’s words to her father, Wayne Dyer, weave their own kind of religion into a narrative more about God and what God means and dharma, and I don’t even know what that means, but I think it must have to do with doing what you are supposed to be doing, and I hope I’m fulfilling my dharma, too. Below is the letter from Serena to her father:
Today I sat behind you in Ephesus, Turkey, while you gave a lecture to a few hundred people who had traveled from all over the world to hear you speak. I was overcome with emotion as I saw you standing there, fulfilling your dharma while touching the lives of so many. I know you as my father, but you have always been a teacher to me as well. You have taught me that the solutions to all of life’s problems are inside of me, and that I only had to go within, be silent and present, and know that all is well.
You never told me how to live or what to think or what to believe in. Instead, you showed me how to make each step a prayer and each word a word of love. You taught me to believe in magic and miracles, and you showed me how to be in awe of the awesome world we live in.
Since the time I was brought into this world, I knew that I was safe to be exactly as I was, and that whoever I was, I was a perfect creation of God. You told me that I was God, and that it was God that looks out from behind my eyes. I learned from you that I was master of my own fate, the creator of my destiny.
Of all the lessons I have learned, the thing that hit me hardest was when you said that I am God. Could I really be a spark of God, a perfect creation put here on Earth with a purpose? You say this all the time, but I have always struggled with it, especially since school and society were telling me otherwise. I doubted myself, felt inferior, and worried that I needed to apologize to someone for even contemplating this idea. I have felt unworthy, undeserved, and unsure. Although you gave me great tools, I still had to figure out how to use them on my own. Now I understand that God is love, God is beauty, and God is truth. You told me I came from an infinite space of perfection and that I will return to it one day, too. Slowly I am beginning to understand.
People love you so much and yet to me you have always been Dad. You drove me to school each morning, you taught me how to swim and ride a bike, you read me stories, and you came to all my plays. As I have grown, you have encouraged me to follow my dharma and go after whatever it is that excites me. You believe in me, Dad, and I love you so much for that.
What do you say to someone who gave you life and then showed you how to live it? You say thank you, thank you, thank you.
I notice the sentence about Serena receiving not only the gift of life from her dad but also the gift of learning how to live it, and I’m reminded of Dan’s letter to Frank where Dan says that Frank gave him the gift of showing him how to die. Both are beautiful gifts, the learning how to live and the learning how to die. So I write a song called “This Gift” about the ultimate gratitude in Serena’s letter and ask one of her sisters, Skye Dyer, if she would like to sing it to their dad onstage sometime at an event we may be at together.
She says yes and before the season turns we are onstage when midway through the song her dad reaches his hand out to her as she sings and I watch her take one step after another in slow motion and take his hand and his eyes well with tears and I can’t keep watching and play guitar at the same time. I look down at my hands until I play the last chord and he wraps his arms around me and says, thank you, and these two small words have more weight than all the volumes in all the world’s libraries.
Excerpted from For the Sender: Love Is (Not a Feeling), by Alex Woodard. Copyright © 2014 (Hay House).