Your face is radiant, and your attention is directed entirely to your mother as I look on. I can see that you want to communicate with her through me, so I pay close attention. You show me a sequence of scenes that culminate in you, much taller than your mother, now white-headed and small with age: you are a man and you enclose her with your embrace, assure her with your wholeness.
For now you sit across from her, all nine years of you, cross-legged on the lawn, and the remnants of what has ailed you these past years is drawn like bits of magnetic sand to a cord of light. It follows the line of your spine and plunges down into the earth. The opaque little bits slide down the cord, bright with its light: divine healing. They are released deep into the soil and your mommy, she laughs because she is watering the ground and watching as daffodils emerge and bloom, absurdly time lapsed, right before your eyes.
These flowers are the tender fruits of your suffering, your fear, all of it suffused with purpose: your own divine intent. Together you laugh and the golden umbilicus that unites you, ties you gently to one another, is visible between you, spanning the space between you there on the grass. Daffodils pop to life all around you. Sunlight plays on your skin with the promise of days so light, so insubstantial, you will feel intoxicated by them, infused with their beauty and their freedom from fear.
Pierce, you are a special boy, and you have not struggled for nothing. Your mommy is awake. Awake and aware, and ever moving, sliding, morphing to keep you in her love's embrace, even as you grown, even as your heart remembers the joys of life on this earth.
I will tell her that you are staying. Fear not, sweet one. I will tell her you will stay, so that she can rest in the palm of your heart. In the moonstone lilt of your perfect love. In the assurance of a lifetime of your kisses. Namaste, love. Blessings.
For now you sit across from her, all nine years of you, cross-legged on the lawn, and the remnants of what has ailed you these past years is drawn like bits of magnetic sand to a cord of light. It follows the line of your spine and plunges down into the earth. The opaque little bits slide down the cord, bright with its light: divine healing. They are released deep into the soil and your mommy, she laughs because she is watering the ground and watching as daffodils emerge and bloom, absurdly time lapsed, right before your eyes.
These flowers are the tender fruits of your suffering, your fear, all of it suffused with purpose: your own divine intent. Together you laugh and the golden umbilicus that unites you, ties you gently to one another, is visible between you, spanning the space between you there on the grass. Daffodils pop to life all around you. Sunlight plays on your skin with the promise of days so light, so insubstantial, you will feel intoxicated by them, infused with their beauty and their freedom from fear.
Pierce, you are a special boy, and you have not struggled for nothing. Your mommy is awake. Awake and aware, and ever moving, sliding, morphing to keep you in her love's embrace, even as you grown, even as your heart remembers the joys of life on this earth.
I will tell her that you are staying. Fear not, sweet one. I will tell her you will stay, so that she can rest in the palm of your heart. In the moonstone lilt of your perfect love. In the assurance of a lifetime of your kisses. Namaste, love. Blessings.
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