Dreaming

I needed to see my girls this morning.  Recent events have underscored the precious tenacity of our fragile little ones; our little doeling died in her sleep last night, swaddled in sheepskin, warm and safe.  She had a full tummy, and sweet dreams, and drifted off into one of them, never to return. 

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.

Each baby is a promise of a future; some futures are returned to the source, to try again.  Life (large "L") is blessed...and goes on...regardless.

Sweet dreams, baby Frieda.