A friendlier outlook towards oneself.
How my 3 year old makes me question consciousness, reality and the story we tell ourselves.
5am.
I hear tiny three year old feet scampering down stairs in the dark.
My bedroom door is flung open and my little boy springboards like an over zealous cat onto the bed.
He scrambles around in the dark burrowing under the covers and sidles up to me.
‘I love you Mum’.
My heart melts and I snuggle him up.
He doesn’t want to go back to his bed so a well-rehearsed line of distraction maneuvers aimed at delaying my mumming begins.
“Mum how did we get here?”
“Mum why are we here?”
“Mum how did i become a whole boy on this whole world?”
And i hear myself saying..
‘Dad and I made you. We made your body. And then your spirit came and chose to go into your body. You are an expression of love.’
More questions, cuddles and some bony prominences in my soft bits follow.
But it struck me that he is an expression of love.
And maybe I too am an expression of love. And also You.
Maybe we were or were not a love expression between parents.
I think I was more an expression of duty. And of course there are lives conceived between parents for many other reasons beside love.
But certainly maybe each new life conceived is an expression of love from something greater.
God, a higher power, the universe, spirit etc. Whatever name is comfortable for you.
I recently heard someone say that the term Universe can be translated as ‘uni’ (one) and ‘verse’ (song). One song.
Onesong being sung.
With undulating notes and melodies, harmonies, surprise beats, a bit of rap thrown in. A symphony of delights all co-creating and combining.
Producing a work of beauty.
If we are expressions of love from that greater power (the Onesong) then we are all notes of that greater power.
Maybe we are the universe in a constant state of blooming and wilting.
Birth and life and death. A regenerative ebb and flow of whatever consciousness is.
Completely alone and yet 100% connected to everything and all life.
Completely purposeless and yet effervescent with purpose of not needing purpose.
Just beauty needing no reason to exist other than for beauty’s sake.
There is so much unfriendliness and unlike or looking down upon of oneself amongst us. A customary feeling of lack. Seeing ourselves in an unfriendly way, distant or separate to the great symphony. And I’m all the more aware of it, as I observe its presence within myself.
Why do we have this?
Where did it come from?
Does it serve us?
I’d like to put it up for personal and professional debate.
Maybe my three year old and each of us is an expression of love playing like a note, a lyric or a melody amidst this infinite Onesing.
All expressions of beauty. Of love.
Would it be so bad to consider this a more truthful story than the story we tell ourselves of our lack. Of our black spots, our warts.
Could they also be part of the Onesong?
Maybe we are all notes perfectly divinely placed amidst the great symphony.
And maybe it might lighten our hearts and give us a friendlier outlook towards oneself to remember this.