A guide from beyond.

All day I've had a sick baby plastered to me. Big sister has frolicked around us, donning rosy cheeks and a new (hand-me-down) sparkly pink leotard… I've been wearing him in my ring sling so my arms won't fall off with this whole baby-won't-let-me-put-him-down thing, and despite the crusted snot streaked across my chest and down my sleeves, I'm pretty cozy and content. Days like this are kind of a blessing, in some ways. They demand your attention and slow it all down. I was just physically pretty unable to do anything other than just keep my kids happy and comforted. And I could do that today, even with such little sleep last night, and the night before… I could just hold him and feed her and keep them occupied. How lucky am I, to be able? But I'll admit, it's hard for me at first, before I fully let go of my expectations of the day. I like to move, to express, to use my brain and body… and today I had to slow and breathe and shush and just love my kids and let the house and work and my mind just lay there.

I have much to update on, but it's just not going to happen tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, when baby is less in need of these arms. Tomorrow I'll share all about food, greenhouse, farm work, dreams for the coming year, etc. Until then, I leave you with a poem:

The Guest House
Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

 

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