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!

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

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!

A to Z: Sons

S for the Blogging from A to Z Challenge.

S is for Siddhartha and Sahaj

Siddhartha, ten years old is on the right
and Sahaj, eight years old is on the left.

The oldest is our sage and his closest brother,
our lion.

Their early Kuk Sool days.

Siddhartha is the name of the Gautama Buddha, meaning 'one who has accomplished his goals'.
Sahaj, named after a form of yoga-Sahaj Marg Meditation, translates to 'the natural path'.

They share an inseparable friendship. 

Often, their school projects are co-oped. 

Recently, they were a couple of shister salesmen persuading their audience in purchasing 

ridiculous packages through their travel agency.

Everything is humor.

Currently, Siddhartha is Lewis and Sahaj is Clark and they are on an expedition.

Siddhartha's favorite author is Stephen King 

and Sahaj loves Roald Dahl.

If I were given the option of only one word for each son, 

this is what it would be:

Siddhartha: light

Sahaj: heart

Nothing in this world could make me more complete.

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!