Alone, they would expire. They need to be swaddled and snuggled, sheathed in warmth
and love. They bundle together on
soft things, preferably something much larger and warm-blooded. Unenhanced by other mammals’ seductive
allure, they seem to be the perfect representation of nature’s raw need for
connection, that root part of us that needs desperately and doesn’t have anything
to offer in return except the palpable relief of being saved from the
terrifying overwhelm of isolation.
They don’t know how to buy love the way we’ve been taught; nobody told
them it had to be earned.
I had a vision a while back of the liminal place between
what we come from and what we do with it.
A Grandmother sat tending a fire in a cave, though the night sky above
was open space. I handed her a
crying baby, the child of a young friend, and immediately the infant settled,
went from squalling need to serene awareness experiencing everything around her
with limitless wonder. All of
creation drew a deep breath of gratitude, and Grandmother smiled and told us to
go be grownups.
My life hasn’t been working lately, and all roads of inquiry
as to why lead back to this place, the part of me that is designed only to
connect, the circuit fallen away from the motherboard that makes it all
run. I’ve sat bewildered by my
inability to respond, wondered what I needed to do or become to make it all
better, not realizing that this part of me does not have the equipment for any
of that. Without this piece in
place, nothing is as it should be.
Life thumps us and parts of us go missing, dislodged from
where they are meant to be, essential links in the grid between matter and
spirit. Dissociation, soul loss,
winked-out lights in the DNA chain; such terrible and bewildered sadness. All aberrant behavior can be traced to
this infantile ego exposed on a hillside, not wailing for fear of attracting
predators.
But we are designed to self repair. In every cell is the instinct to seek
the warmth and light that has temporarily gone out of us, if we would only
remember it is ours by definition. Lives spent in shame-based scheming and
strategizing may have taught us otherwise, but this love is our birth right,
and like anything that is truly ours, we need only claim it.
So I’m here on my couch surrounded by these gentle little dogs, cherishing their shameless pleasure in the comfort offered by soft
blankets and a warm body. I think
I’ll just close my eyes and breathe with them for a while, then see what I can
do about this business of being a grownup.
With love,
Mia
This is brilliant Mia. I love so many of the points you made. So poignant.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Nancy.
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