After a moment he opened his eyes, and when I inquired what he had been doing, he said he was praying for us, “all the peoples” to stop fighting in our world, “to stop bringing pain to eachothers.” He spoke to some of his own pain-causing with remorse, saying: “No more saying to you Mama, when I’m angry ‘I wish you weren’t my mother.’ No more saying to Arayla: ‘I won’t play with you ever again.’ No more saying “hate” when I’m so angry. I just want peace and no more fighting in our family or our world.” Yes my love, thank you. Aho.
Sometimes it’s so obvious that these young ones are actually the ancient ones, come back around to help us remember the way.
My son Ezra has always been what I would call “shamanically inclined.” Both of my kids have been, and obviously conditioned that way as well. But whereas my empathic, intuitive girl has revealed more earthy inspirations around issues of the soil, plants and food, and the care of earth’s many creatures, deeply disturbed by homelessness and all forms of social injustice, with less innate interest in the subtle realms of spirit, my son has been the one who from the time he was a little toddler has shown up next to me with a stick of Palo Santo, a lighter, and feather wand in his hand, asking me to “please help heal the energy.”
Last week, we had to take 4 planes total in our roundtrip back East for Christmas. On each plane, as the plane made its way down the runway, I would glance over to find Ezra making great arm-circles with his eyes closed, making a slight “shshshs” sound, as he carefully envisioned the plane surrounded by light, muttering prayers of protection, as he moves the ancient starlight out from his heart through his palms, each plane rising safely into the air.
We went to the beach on New Year’s Day, and came upon a small abandoned beachfire, and as we sat there, warming our chilled hands and toes, Ezra started working with the Spirit of the fire. I could see him, as he stood, poking at the fire with a long stick of driftwood, his little chest puffing out with nobility, pride, his eyes ablaze, connected, enlivened, glancing above the fire, his spine lengthening, and I could see the fire-tender he will become; one who can navigate the elements with wisdom and responsibility, honoring the connection between the worlds.
Such a lover of ritual and ceremony, he is the one who will insist we light candles at dinner and speak our blessings with strong voices and generosity. He is the one who will remind us, without fail, to sing to Mother Ocean “her favorite song, 'YeMaya',” if we have gone to the coast and somehow forgotten to honor her. He is the one who will stand by my side ceremonially bowing in, and bowing out~ of seasons, of moments, of passages, upon rising for the day and at bedtime, too.
He is the one who every day asks for meaningful physical rituals. We showered together the other morning, and he said: “Oh Mama please will you pick me up? It’s been so, so long since we were together, skin to skin, like that?” And when I groaned to gather up all of his slippery, 64 lb self into my arms, he said proudly: “I sure am getting big for you, aren’t I, Mom?” as he pressed his huge, wet heart into mine, breathing deeply. And I said “YES you sure are!” And he said, excitedly, “Let me show you all my muscles!” So I lowered him carefully down, and he flexed every amazing muscle of his little body for me to admire.
Before he was conceived I could feel his bright spirit’s powerful insistence to incarnate. He was literally irresistible. In the nights, while his little body grew slowly and quickly within my own, I would have dreams of a big, strong force of a man with a golden star for a heart. Six years old now, I’m tenderly watching the last embers of babyhood fading from his sweet flesh; last morsels of plumpness, last threads of toddlerhood just barely whispering through his words. I’m watching small round muscles of boyhood take form beneath his tightening skin, his stride lengthening and gait strengthening; as he steps into his own competence, confidence, and power with deep-centered will and bright-eyed passion.
What a gift to find him sitting before the fire last night, his arrow in his hands, his prayers so earnest and true. Like most men of power, I can see he already has his work cut out for him. The anger is so quick in him, rage so hot and quick to burst and grow to flame, scorpionic words so quick to lash out and sting. I’m excited by what is opening in the language between us, now that he is growing older. What a gift to share this love for Spirit, for working with energy at the level of breath, prayer, word and intention. I’m so grateful to share the torch. “I just want peace and no more fighting in our family or our world” he said, boldly. And then named the personal ways he wants to make these changes. Thank you my son. Thank you for taking care in this way.