House Guests

Your child is simply eating melon. And you? You are hovering with a towel as if life is not meant to be messy. Yes, it is dripping and landing on the upholstered kitchen chair, but look at his face wet with juice. He is sweeter than the fruit. 

The presence of one's children is like a lamp shining upon all the darkest places.  

You are afraid. Afraid they will break or stain something. Afraid they will be a bother, a nuisance, a pain. And so the fear turns into control and correction.  It happens. After a day of this, you pause and look within. This feeling, this fear, is familiar. You are afraid of upsetting others. 

Be silent. Be still. 

Look now to the body. 

Feel it. Oof! - it is as tense as a weight lifter! 

Let it go. 

Surrender. 

They are just wild animal children and you are just barely an adult and you all have time to grow and flounder and blossom. They haven't been tainted by shame yet. This is a beautiful thing. Don't let them feel your unnecessary worry. 

And so surrender. 

Fill your belly with air. 

Empty it. 

Now, continue breathing like this until you feel no worry, 

until you feel empty and worthy.

Look at her, nearly seven, and demanding money for muffins, begging her grandfather to take her walking. Look at how she loves, without abandon, without worry. She doesn't doubt the love of others. She knows it is pure. They take her swimming, feed her, speak with her, and hold her in their arms. Just the other night, your mother, their grandmother, read them story after story even after her own eyes started closing, her words tangling, which then turned into giggling. 

And so surrender. 

You are not a burden. 

You are love, and you are loved.