I was watching my son today. He fell asleep just now. I was right next to him, my hand on his back, feeling the calmness of his steady breath. Right in the middle between five and six years old. He's so big. So wise. There's not a day without me learning from him. Or at least not a day without him giving me the chance.
His mother and I, we gave him life. It feels like a strange thing to say, since he's so full of his own. I knew he was coming, I mean, I knew it was him. Long before he was born, he could already tell us so much about himself, about his needs and his character. What he brought. Who he is. And yet, we gave him life. More and more, my life feels like being in service. Not only to him, but to life itself. The life we gave, the life we once were given. The life running through us, the life yearning to be lived.
My beautiful son, my teacher, my boy. May I always hear what you have to tell, and may your life be the greatest expression of who you are. We gave you life so you could live it. Your life. Our life. Life.
Good night, my sleeping friend. What a gift you are. Good night.
This is a calling to slow down and listen. To take a deep breath and explore our personal connection with Mother Earth. The feminine and masculine, the beautiful and dirty, the real, the messy, the sacred. Once it was natural. Today it feels crucial.
For the next 100 Days I will write a book to the Earth. For the Earth. With the Earth. The book, and the journey, is also to you. For you. And with you. Together, we are everything.
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