"Your children are not your children ...
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you."
Kahlil Gibran
For decades, I disagreed with Kahlil Gibran about my four loving children not being my own. I was much more than a transport for my children to ferry into life. My passion for sharing life with them disallowed any nonsense about them not belonging to me. We belonged to each other ... until we did not.
Today is the birthday of my youngest son, whose emotional makeup reflects my own. We both have a passion for nature whether trees, water, or walking upon sacred ground. But clearly, he does not belong to me any more than the moon or the stars. I have been consciously present for him and he has been a present to me.
And isn't this just how life is meant to be? To present our very best self to others in exchange for learning and growth? To share our wisdom, but allowing each person to just be? I have adjusted to the hope that I have been a warm loving light, an incubator of sorts, so that my children could truly be free.
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