The girls were doing yoga when I met them, mid-morning. There's a strange calm over the barn these days. Pupils are dilated. I feel a sense of...willful rest...in the air. Does are blessing each other with velvet lips on huge, moving bellies. We're waiting for the stars to rise over the mangers , and bring us our newborn spring.
I cannot mourn a life unlived; I can only send my hopes to the still-struggling babies and mothers. There's a plan to it all; we're all caught in the balance. We can mourn our hopes for that lost life; nothing more.
I decided to spend an hour with my new seedlings upstairs, and as I separated the weak from the strong, and cast aside the broken stems and weak roots, I understood more deeply that we're all part of the energy that surrounds us, and a fragile life lost (any life) will express itself in another way. Energy is eternal. I've understood this for some time, but nursing a six pound kid in your arms at 1 AM in the morning, and watching her nostrils dilate and eyes flutter in milk-bliss brings vivid memories of my own child; those instincts are too strong for my rational spirituality. My love for my child, now grown, is deeper than my love for myself; some of you understand.