tamarjacobson

Waking up in California the air is different. We saw pelicans yesterday – flocks of them, flying low over the Bay. Glorious sunshine and cool breezes. All the family together walking by the water. It was magical.

My book is formulating in my mind and accompanies me as I create new memories with newly found niece and nephew. I will never let them be lost to us again. Philosophical talks with a seventeen year old about what it means to be an adult. I say something about becoming an adult after learning that life is really messy. He replies instantly, quietly, firmly: "I think I know what messy is – it’s just a matter of cleaning it all up." I sense the pain he has already endured and is just seventeen. I will never allow them to be lost to us again. I write down what he says on a slip of paper, the old boarding pass to yesterday’s plane flight. This must go in my blog, I tell him. He smiles from ear to ear and tells his sister, "What I said is going to be up on her website." My book is formulating. More and more confirmation that there is nothing more important than relationships. Math, reading, all that great stuff is great but meaningless if relationships leave us hollow, in pain, searching for our hearts and souls.

Relationships have always been my greatest challenge. The vulnerability to expose who I am, what I think and feel in fear of losing everyone over and over again because I am so unbearable, such trouble … the longing, aching for acceptance and acknowledgment … on and on.

And on the other hand, relationships have saved my life. Validating, supporting, consoling, understanding, accepting, unconditional loving kinds of relationships, hands extended to me from strangers, one or two family members … on and on. Learning when to let go or how to hold still. Challenging and life saving, back and forth like a lullaby, swelling and ebbing like the tide … on and on and forever.

There are other things on my mind related to relationships, accompanying me on this trip out West. My son has decided to return home to Israel. He goes back as a grown man, 34 years old. I feel as if the bow of life is being pulled and he springs forth like from one of Gibran‘s arrows. Even as he chooses to move so far away from me physically, my only real family here in the States, and even as my heart cries out with missing him already, I let go and hold still all at the same time. Ache and rejoice all at the same time for oh so many reasons … back and forth like a lullaby, swelling and ebbing like the tide … on and on and forever.

Kahlil Gibran‘s poem about Children has meaning for me now as I am challenged with this new situation. The poem rises up to greet me, cradle and strengthen me this early morning in San Francisco. It returns to me after 35 years, as I recall reading it while living in Manchester pregnant with my son.

Children

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, "Speak to us of Children."

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: May flights of angels sing you to your rest