Thirteen Years

Siddhartha,

our oldest, is thirteen today. He his an exceptional child. Brilliant, beyond his years. His spirit is solid. He is a student and a teacher. His capability for self-control is uncanny.

What I have noticed most recently about him is that he doesn't talk to me so much anymore. And, when I talk to him, so often, he simply nods. As a mother, there is a stinging sensation, naturally, but certainly this phase will pass. He is, by nature, unfurling. Spinning wildly out of his core. Into that climatic air of development. 

A true experimentation of his inner-spirit. 

The other night when I told my husband that I didn't know what to write about Sidd he said, 

write about what he truly is: 

Stillness

That young man who is affected and unaffected, all the same. A true Gautama. Anchored. Untouched by this fickle illusion. Aaron reminded me of how comfortable Siddhartha has always been. Transparent. Ariel. 

Free in his time here. 

An old soul. 

With expectations from so many of us, he is braced by his own restraint. 

Aaron has always talked about the importance of abstinence. 

The renunciation of desire. 

I understand Siddhartha to be the embodiment of that.

A witty kid, a fun brother, a sage in this world where many worlds fit.
We are blessed to share this life with him.
Happy birthday, Siddhartha!

Happy Birthday Judah!

It's been fun, all the way through, with this one.

He was born sharp-witted and ready for the world.

When he was a baby, swaddled in a sling, people would stop to talk to him all the time. I remember, in particular, an old man at the market who payed no attention to me, only the baby. He said to Judah(in reference to the universe), "You've been here before, right? Even though you can't tell me, I know you know. I can see it in your eyes."

And, Judah smiled. The brilliant way that he still does. 

He is baby number three, which means he sits right in the middle of the wolf pack. And this, I believe, is what makes him a bit edgy at times. A little lazy at times. A bit dramatic and boisterous at times. 

Nonetheless, we are all inspired by his mischievous, riotous ways.

In the last few months, 

we have all been astonished by his unrestrained artistic talents. 

He is an artist. Without burden, he is loose and free-spirited with his art. 

His soft sketches, a Love and Peace van, for all of us to fit in to; the puppy, that he desires to have one day; little fat cat, because his sister loves cats so much.

His unfettered hand at monsters.
They are all sorts of demonic and mean and wild, and
he has total control over them. 

Random dudes.
Zombie Joker and other guys that sort of resemble him, in my opinion.

And my favorite, Zombie Avengers, 

the first comic book that he ever wrote. 

Stapled and published by 'Darckhors' comics. 

Love

Recently, the most cherished part of my relationship with Judah has been our friendship. Nine is old enough to share thoughts deeply, but young enough to still sit close and read quietly together. He is quickly maturing into an understanding and kind young man who I am truly proud of.

Happy birthday to my little friend, Mahatma Judah, who I love so dearly.

Regarding His Name: Govinda

His name was Shani until the moon told me otherwise. One of the celestial gods, in Hindu myth, Shani bears the task of granting the fruits of one's actions; he is responsible for punishing or rewarding one in accordance with their karmic action. The son of the sun, he is feared and loved, all the same. As the story goes, after the birth of Lord Shani, as he opened his eyes for the first time, his father (the sun) went into an eclipse. He is known as the most powerful well-wisher and the most feared punisher.

But, the moon had another name for our last little boy.

His name is Govinda, an avatar of Vishnu, the incarnation of Krishna, and the protector of the most sacred creature: the cow. In the tales of the Bhagavata Purana, Govinda revives the cowherds who are killed by drinking from a pool infected by a poisonous snake, simply by favoring them with his ambrosia-filled glance. In reference to prayer, it is said that "If one just worships Govinda, one can easily cross this great ocean of birth and death."(from Adi Sankara's Bhaja Govindam)

So, when the moon was full for three long nights, I labored without realizing that I was laboring. And the baby waited until the fullest moon-night. When he opened his eyes for the first time, I knew that he was Govinda, the magic brought on by the moon. To me, Govinda means nothing more than the pure embodiment of love.

All that he is.

Happy birthday, sweet Govinda Hare!

Happy Birthday Lotus Girl

All the reasons to love Haile:

because she has been known to throw the most Hatter party

because she is so much boy

except for her kiss, which always takes me back to youthful days, 

where everything tasted like lemon-drop lollies

because she is a girl, and that means she is strong

because she resembles all the colors of Fall

because her eyes were plucked from an owl

because she is Nalini, who sits on a Lotus,

and the goddess Gayatri gave her to me

Happy birthday, Nalini Haile, the universe couldn't have picked a more beautiful flower.

Happy Birthday Sunbeam!

After eleven years with this sweet spirit, I know clearly that he will never stop shining. There is a sort of dazzling light in his heart that illuminates beyond all odds.

He shared with me one day the idea that the sun would die and that life would die and how that thought made him feel so sad. I told him to write about it:

"Our sun will become an expanding sun, burn its hydrogen, and then turn into a helium flash, which will shrink and expand and shed its outer layers. It will become a ring nebula and then it will turn into a small white dwarf and cool down to become a cold, dense black dwarf that will no longer radiate energy and then no one will ever know that it was alive and that it produced life." -Sahaj

He is the single soul in my life who makes me most hopeful; he believes in the feasibility of impossible things. 

I'm truly blessed to celebrate another birthday with this beautiful beam!!

Sickle and Hammer Soldier

Siddhartha:

Born in an age of transformation and wonder,

under the blue-light;

the bearer of water,

he knows the eightfold path

and the four noble truths

And after twelve years, he is a true star. He has become a witty comedian, an exquisite writer, and a dramatic artist. 

A few months ago, he gave me one of his drawings: 

The Sickle and Hammer Soldier

I see a young man: worn, wounded, battered; his chest torn open, heart splattered, blue-red blood. With the memory of brighter days, green meadows; lazy summers; spring waters, he carries on. Under the red sun, he holds his inner light in perseverance. And, it is that soul who wanders beyond ease and comfort, who will eventually find the purest form of salvation. 

Happy 12th birthday

to our little

old-soul,

Siddhartha

Judah Turns Eight

This beautiful young man is our middle child. 

When you have two bright and creative older brothers ahead of you and two younger siblings who gather up all the attention they need from everyone around you, you might become a little weary, always placed in the middle of things. Yet, Judah seems to know how to fit into the ranks with his older brothers when it comes to manners and chores and the important things, like remembering when your homework is due. In the same breath, he is able to pull himself under covers with his younger brother and sister, turn on a flashlight, and read stories to them into the night. I've watch their little heads bounce around the covers, and I've listened to the laughter and felt the contentment in my heart, knowing that the little two admire him so much.

Judah, he sees as far as the stars and hears the sound of rain fall. His bright brown eyes and dream-like laughter, his colorful mind, his comfort with each day, makes him a jewel among the tribe. 

I hope that every day is a celebration for him, but today is a day for gifts and love and merry play, for Judah turns eight, and I couldn't imagine my days without his cheerful ways. 

Happy birthday

Mahatma Judah!

Happy Ten Years, Sunbeam!

Aaron and I sat around last night, talking about how special Sahaj is, and I said to my husband, he's the nicest person I've ever met in this world. And truly, Sahaj is. I don't know anything else more real. 

In our little pack of wolves, he is always the first to stand up and help. I secretly wish I knew what it felt like to have him as an older brother. 

Our only summer baby, he's a ball of delight in every season.

 As you may know already, I have a thing about writing down statements that my kids make. I tuck scraps of paper smeared with their sense and spirit into notebooks. Here is some insite I scribbled earlier this year:

"You can turn something dark into something bright, just add stars." 

-Sahaj

His words are jewels,

just like his eyes. 

This little boy, who is growing into such a handsome, devoted young man, holds my heart(and Haile's, too). 

We've spent the majority of this lazy summer reading, and I've just finished a book which was highly recommended to me by Sahaj, Odd and the Frost Giants. He tells me that he enjoyed most, the part where the rainbow was formed out of ice, and then they fell into Asgard. 

He's just a good kid. I hope to spend so many more days with him, trading books, reading about supernovas, coloring the world, and seeing the trail of magic that is left behind after his laughter. 

At Eleven

Siddhartha at camp last year

I believe it is a sort of sensation, to reach the second decade of continuance. A tenth of life behind and an endless range of possibilities ahead. At the surface, the air is still thin, clear and fair. The days are fresh water, played out in the ease of childish pleasure. Internally, the colors are brighter, the bloom is heavy, and the air is thick as fruit begin to ripen. 

Eleven is a crossing, a cloverleaf; the bridge to a larger path. Our eldest son has reached this pivotal mark. Where his demands are a bit grander. His sense of understanding, based on a more worldly view. His expectations higher as his capabilities grow. Responsibility and frustration become evident with the natural sense of development. Yet, he still carries with him a box of youthful treasure: an innocent wonderment, the earliest light of a sunrise, and the delight in daily adventures. He is still a kid. A treat to say that he is my kid.

A summer day at the pond, which was spent climbing boulders

Happy birthday, my brilliant son!

Rainbow Haile

A special day for
the love-sick bean,

Helena
The shimmer in her heart
is confectionery,

sugar sweet
Her dance today, twice around Apollo's solar flare
Her early presence
illuminated
a crescent moon

on that day,
 the universe passed a secret message to me

a flush of glimmer came through
that wild blue moment

basking in her glistening light

as I caught the stars
at night

Happy Birthday, Haile!

We had four sons before Haile, our only girl. The boys are wonderful, she is definitely dessert. 

Happy Tenth Year, Siddhartha

A whole decade with Siddhartha and it feels almost full circle. He isn't my baby anymore, he's more than our son. These days I find myself going to him when I need a certain type of comfort, the type when you just need to talk and know that someone will listen. The type of moment where a heartfelt smile means more than an answer. These days, my son Siddhartha, is more of a friend.

For anyone who knows him, genuinely, understands the way he is. He's easy. He's just there, at ease, warm and earnest. I admire his content. His willingness and his air, the one that reeks of: I've got it all under control.

He travels, leisurely. For him, gathering friendship is simple. He's cordial and natural, sort of a marshmallow kid.

Imagine having him on your team. Or being able to call him Brother.

We are blessed with a family full of so many adorable and majestic children. A jungle of laughter and light. Yet, so often in this house, life entwines, leaving us feeling like spiders, almost too close; standing out is not always an option in this lace of identity.

To me, Siddhartha is simple and free. His disposition is charming. With him, the air is always settled.

The other day, I asked him for words. Words that he would store for himself. This is what he shared with me:

bright

mellow

quiet

good sport

crazy

jumpy

the guy with a joke

wild

sneaky

clever

He is one of those who are close to their core. My dexterous son.

Happy Birthday Siddhartha!

A Gift for a Sweet Friend

A friend came over to play recently.

For me, it was reason to weave and knot.

I used blue and purple and another sea color hue.

And a trinket, a swan or dove, a flower and a bird,

or whatever she may think up.

It was a happy birthday, a while back, for a sweet friend named Iris.

~

A note to the "rainbow" goddess.

The one who holds the castle in the air.

My compliments to her faith and wisdom. A little promise in love.

I can hear her harmonious thoughts, half way across.

With that centered eye of yours,

I can find you anywhere.

The Fleur-delis, de la fancaise.

A whole spectrum of bloom.

Whimsical and magical. Elegant.

Flowers and dust.

Golden and winged.

The sea and the sky. "The wondrous" one.

Her arch, in curtsy, between the sea and the sun.

Happy Birthday Govinda!

Last night Aaron and I talked about a little boy's very first year with us. A boy that was born because the moon needed him here. We sat around reminiscing about his earliest nights. Aaron said, "He would let me hold him, love him, dance with him. He transformed me."

He had a purple hand, it stayed that way for weeks. He was our biggest baby. A happy one. He was silent and sweet. Not so quiet these days, but Govinda still seems to be coated with candy.

He spends most of his time in an automobile, whether is truly exists for not. He is also a mechanic. The yellow and green wooden tools compete to hold his interest, but Govinda finds his dad's tools to be more entertaining. Rusty tools and the dangerously sharp, pointy ones. He operates on his baby dolls with them; he's a doctor also. He frightens me.

He tries his hardest to emulate his eldest boys. He yells at Judah a lot. He doesn't want help putting his shoes on anymore. He adores his baby sister.

He wears mittens in the summer. He looks for the moon at night.

What I remembered last night was simply his touch. There is a succession of Zen Masters who are linked together by transmission of mind, pure thought transferred from mind to mind with no words. We tend to dwell so little on our whole range of sensory perceptors and receptors that our touch feels bland compared to what it would feel like if our awareness was one hundred percent. I remember Govi's "original touch", as Ina May Gaskin refers to it. She says that a baby born blind doesn't lose his original touch because he can't afford to pull his attention out of his skin and out of his hands when he gets so much of his information about the Universe this way. Govinda reminds me to hold on to my original touch. He is alive and electric. And I hope that he stays close forever.

Happy Birthday Govinda Hare!

Happy Birthday Haile!

When Haile came home she was still dead asleep. After spending those vampire days with her in the NICU, I didn't quite feel like her mother. I had to bring her home from such a horrid place, a hospital. All we could do, for lithless weeks, was figure out a way to wake her up. The hospital gave us a bunch of plastic bottles and told us where to find powder. I felt like I had never been a home-birth mother.

We fed her with a dropper, drop by drop, the purest of pure. And sometimes we had to give in, mix powder, for Haile would only fall deeper into that distant sleep upon her mother.

We gave her her time and we watched her shine.

Last week she gained her first 'war wound'; busted lip, swollen mouth, crusty scabs, and all. That's what she gets for playin' around with a bunch of ruffian boys all day.

I've watched her steal their food, she makes Govi cry sometimes. She plays their games, I hear her laugh when they try to scare her with wicked masks. I've caught her leaving home a few times. No more preemie, that Haile holds her ground.

She shared with us, something that baby boys, born at home with their comfortable start, had never shared with us. Her womb world.

In that maze of exhausted days, we couldn't imagine who she might become in a year. A scrumptious peach and a twinkling little star. Lotus blossom.

Thank you for sharing your womb world with us.

Our blessed little empress eye.

Happiest of birthdays, dearest Haile.

Haile at nine months

My Summer Flame

Last school year, Sunday nights were for family poetry.
Sahaj wrote a few haiku's.
Here is one.

Summer Flames

Summer feels like fire.

My birthday is August 8th.

Summer's brightest day.

Eight times around the sun today for our little Jahson.

Sometimes I walk in on his heartfelt conversation with his sister.
He tells her things like this, "You are the most beautiful girl on the planet."
And like this, "I hope this world never hurts you."

Before he goes off to bed he shows us his warmest smile and tells us things like this, "I want to wake up and live this day with you all over again."

He's nothing but light.
A happy birthday to our brightest boy.