Time Travel March 18 2011
Traveling in space, back to where I came to earth,
I travel also back in time – back, back, back, and back some more,
Searching for the bright, untrammeled spirit
That I must have been at birth.
I think of photos.
I was that infant — on my belly, lifting up my head,
Photographed at three months old
Peering at the world with hope and interest.
And the two year old — standing in my starched white dress,
Garden angel, feet astraddle, balance still unsure,
Smiling ‘cause I’d plucked out all the landlord’s flowers,
Delighting in the beauty of each one.
By three, my face looked pained and puzzled,
Knowing that I’d lost my mother’s love.
When I find again the unscathed child deep inside me somewhere,
I’ll treasure her, and never let her go again.
I yearn to find her, to look now from her eyes,
To know again her world of joy and hope —
Her memory of love and bliss.
I didn’t used to get it about babies (or about a lot of other things) – what made them so special, so amazing. Now I know they carry with them still the memory of that other world from which they came – where they were angels, unfettered spirits, bonded safely with the all of universal love and peace. They’re new here, getting used to recalcitrant substance, struggling to survive the hurts imposed by people’s unawareness, learning how to work the body that so strangely weighs them down and lets them interact with matter – burden and reward at the same time.
Then the babies get entranced with the body and the world, greedy to extract every experience, every benefit, every moment of individual pride. I did. I forgot about the spirit world for a very long time, till, now I’m growing old, I find myself wondering: where DID I come from, anyway? Where will I go when I leave this body? I feel drawn back to beginnings, and find therein great peace.