Molten

Today I learned that 65% of the stars we see burn­ing through the draped vel­vet are really dou­ble stars. If one looks through a tele­scope it is two stars most of the time. I am think­ing of rela­tion­ships. The bright ones are mostly made of two indi­vid­u­als who main­tain them­selves as their own, fol­low their own paths and inter­ests. They can say “no” with­out hav­ing to apply a lot of sugar. This allows them to say yes with a light heart, I think. I am lucky to have a part­ner who is aware and will­ful enough to strive for herself.

Any­way, this could sound preachy if I leave it there, so I will cir­cle in on myself. I am now won­der­ing about trip­tych stars. The child arrives. (My own per­sonal tale about that mir­a­cle involves him shoot­ing through a bright hole in the vel­vet straight into our arms.) At this golden moment in the first weeks of life I have no say in what he does or does not do. We can think we want a nap now or a poop then, but we can’t. He is com­pletely his own per­son, and I can’t do much to inter­fere with that. He is get­ting his shot at liv­ing only n this moment, respond­ing only to his needs. The cru­elty is that he won’t remem­ber the power of now. At some point in the future I will start to impose myself and my will on him, for his own good of course. Some­times truly, but some­times not. I will force him to fuse with me. I will ques­tion or squash his “no” and miss his “yes”. I will mourn that and he will have to heal from that.

I want to raise a wild human. The rest of the world will want to domes­ti­cate him, make him stand in line. Can I learn to know myself well enough to keep him safe while he truly explores the world he finds him­self in? Can I tol­er­ate his wild, beau­ti­ful heart? Can I let him flow and flower?