Living the Future

The morning is perfect, absolutely perfect. I wish it was like this forever, I think, as I start out on my precious walk. I remember a walk about a month ago. I rounded the corner on the south side of our street, and Bill is just standing there. "Were you on your way to the park?" I ask him, huggin him close. "No, I told Dad that I wanted to come meet you on your way home from your walk."

"But how did you know I'd be coming this way?" I asked. I usually come from the west, or from the north, hardly from the south.

"Because I saw you in my head," he answered simply.

"But how did you know WHEN I'd be here at this spot?" I continued.

"Because I saw you in my head," he answered again.

It's not the first time he's done this, and he's doing it more and more. Like when we were driving down to Take 2 Video. We pulled out of our driveway, and he said, "When we get there, there will be a small white car parked on the north side of the parking lot." I said "okay," and we kept driving. I didn't really think about it until we rounded the corner by the Bowler and Bill said, "See? See? I told you - there's the small white care, right where I saw it!"

I asked him how he knew it would be there. He answered, "because I just saw it in my head." Now, given my profession it's no stretch that my son would exhibit some of the same tendencies, but there is something so powerful about his ability to inhabit the future as well as the present, to hold it all together in his head, to make use of it (ie. to meet his mom at the corner to walk her home), and I wonder what his brain looks like, more especially how it operates. Is he one the new ones that's here right now, that's already made the leap, and is just waiting for the rest of us to catch up? Most assuredly, as are most kids from about age 10 and younger, I think. Some of the really young ones just communicate telepathically, and are almost comically patient as they watch us "newbies" falter into the new energy, like they're saying, "what IS the big deal?" Well, easy for them to say - they didn't have to fight through all the density like we're having to do. But thank heavens it's easier for them, like for Bill. He's always exhibited a maturity WAY beyond his young years. He doesn't do sarcasm, has always been polite and gentle, and has a way of excusing stupid behavior in others.

So I use this walking time to ponder my 7 year old and his amazingness (my new word), and I think how fortunate I am that he is here, and that we are together. I went to "Stardust" last night, my first movie since Shrek 3 back in May. It was about a star (Claire Danes) who came to Earth, and about a witch, and a young man on a quest, oh, and an evil prince who wants to be King - all the juicy stuff that myths are made of. The thing that I remember most about the movie, however, is Claire Danes telling the young man about love. She says something like, "unconditional love doesn't have to prove itself or give anything - it just is. I give you my heart and ask for nothing from you, other than your heart." And I think of all the people who've give me their hearts, and who've I've given my heart to, and I think it's got to be like a huge party in there somewhere, all of our hearts connected with beautiful golden rainbow cords, pulsing love to keep us alive and happy, to help us remember that we're not alone - that there are others here who would be very sad if we weren't here, those who would probably die for us, think about us, wish the best for us. It helps me to think of that, to remember that, as I sit here on this stunningly perfect Sunday afternoon. Mom and I are together in that holy place, as are Dad and I, and Steve, and Bill, Kari, Erik, Jordan, and all of my dear friends. And what do I see when I look in my heart? I see confetti thrown in the air, and I hear those toot horns, and see party hats everywhere. Yes, I do.