The child that is born is an open bridge to the unconscious, to the unmanifest, expanded multidimensional soul. Babies are so magnificent. They're always staring off into space, into the eyes of their beloveds, of their companion souls, of God. We have all heard it said that the eyes are the windows of the soul, and the soul is very present in children... As we touch the child inside ourselves, we begin to shift from the emotional body's experience to the deeper, more profound love of our cosmic self. The child reminds us that God laughs.
Guess who I am?
Guess who it is
that loves you --
you, who were the breaking of spring
in my heart
before the beginning of time;
guess who I am,
You, in the womb
before the day star I have begotten you.
The carefree hearts of children reflect qualities that are divine by their restless pranks and blissful for their innocence. It is for us to see how far we can make use of this "Divinity" in ourselves, expressed through the child-God.
To respond authentically to what we encounter: this is how we all reacted as children, before we were punished or shamed for doing so. To respond authentically to what we encounter -- how hard it is for adults to do something that sounds so simple.
To do so, we only have to be inwardly attentive, we only have to know what we feel, we only have to be able to respond with an innocent, spontaneous, instinctive receptivity that is a finely attuned discriminating consciousness, a body and soul reaction to the world around us.
Once, in the early days of my desolution, I thought I might learn to write in the language of the spiders. Now, led by the Child, I am on my way to it. The true language, I know now, is that speech in silence in which we first communicated, the Child and I, in the forest, when I was asleep. It is the language I used in my childhood, and some memory, intangibly there by not quite audible, of our marvelous conversations, comes to me again at the very edge of sleep, a language my tongue almost rediscovers and which would, I believe, reveal the secrets of the universe to me the language whose every syllable is a gesture of reconciliation. I spoke it in my childhood. I must discover it again.
In the silent night
a child was sent
to embody
the Mystery of
God alive
among us.
I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a child quieted at its mother's breast;
like a child that is quieted
is my soul ...
Vanya wondered how he could best help this child, so pure in heart, to grow in the love of God. It was too early to SPEAK to him about God dwelling within him, so he simply encouraged him to sit still, to relax and concentrate his thoughts within. He was sure that, in the boy's open and expectant heart, the mystery would make itself known in its own way without the sounds of words... Vanya, for his part, tried to see into the depth of those wonderful eyes and, behind them, into the sanctuary of that child's heart where so clearly God was dwelling.
Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again... And what do we teach our children? We teach them that two and two make four, and that Paris is the capital of France. When will we also teach them what they are? ...
Do you know what you are? You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that have passed, there has never been another child like you... You have the capacity for anything. Yes, you are a marvel. And when you grow up, can you then harm another who is, like you, a marvel?
We must all work to make the world worthy of its children.
We often forget that we are like children whose hearts must be open, trusting and needful of God's deep embrace... Deep within the divine embrace the self is always recognized as infinitely precious, worthy of dignity and respect. One discovers one's essential goodness and the graced quality of one's life... In that embrace one discovers true needfulness and vulnerability, the heart of the beloved child that rests in loving arms and finds there its peaceful home.
What sets monks apart from the rest of us is not an overbearing piety by a contemplative sense of fun. They know, as Trappist monk Matthew Kelty reminds us, that "you do not have to be holy to love God. You have only to be human. Nor do you have to be holy to see God in all things. You have only to play as a child with an unselfish heart."
"I have no name:
I am but two days old."
What shall I call thee?
"Joy is my name."
Sweet joy befall thee!