t isn’t irony, that an act of procreation, is the art of re creation
most of us are born in the dark, by the light of a love, no matter how fragile that moment may have been
it brought us here…life.
The first part of life, is the joy of firsts. Even before we know what a smile is, we do. Even before we know how to gaze, we do. Every sound, every sight, every look, every touch, is new…a first. For more than a year, we have nothing but firsts, and until much later, we remember none of them, another first.
We are not blind, but cannot see, we are not deaf, but cannot hear, we are not dumb, but cannot speak, we are not immobile, but cannot move, we spend that first year learning to hear, to see, to touch to walk, to be more than we were…and that gift continues until we die.
The second phase is longer, as long as six or seven, or even more years than that…a mysterious time of life, closed to our adult brains and thoughts. It is a timeless playground, where we invent how we want to feel, and can be anything we want to be, we understand little, but want to know everything. Rules do not apply, but they are being applied. We can draw purple horses at this age, until we are told horses are not purple. We can color outside the lines, a skill most of us lose for decades. We have simple needs, and no need for money, or bills, or things. We just want to play, and the days and our minds are long enough where days, especially in summer, last a lifetime.
Oh, and then we become young men, and women, almost over night, the other sex is revealed to us, or the potential for sex is, and we mistake it for love, for commitment, and for passion, for it has all three, but isn’t any of them.
We aren’t done yet, and most of our half baked schemes, and life long scars, and things that change us, happen in these years…but the joy of youth, the certainty, the smoothness of our skin, and the healing power of our emotions as they bang wildly out of our control, make us long for sweet sixteen, even though it wasn’t. Second only to the first year of life, are the firsts in this time of ours. First kisses, first friends, first dreams of adult success, first taste of freedom, or rebellion- of stating: “I am here. I am me. Get ready world.” Oh, yes, these years lay down memories that last, until the last.
Then the blur begins, as more and more of you, is lost in the demands of others. Torn between being the individual hermit with no regard for anything but self, and being the man, or woman, who people count on, or lean on, or want on. It is a war that will last 30 to 40 years, before a balance is found. Or a truce with society is made. Or, in rare cases, you begin again with firsts.
Then, the peace of old age, the gift of patterns of life exposed to you. The smile that comes with no hidden strings. Joy, in the single moment of taking another breath. At this point in life, you love life, because it is. You see youth for what it is, without any remorse for having spent yours, nor any inclination to join theirs. All babies are grand babies to you now. Anyone who takes the time to be with you, is cherished. It comes with a price, friends find a way off the mortal coil, before you. Your bones tell the weather, and your health tells you if you can visit that day. Parts of your senses close down …slowly, so that you can shift more and more of your focus back to those first years of life, and you see that the circle is almost complete, and it may begin again.
Soon, the peace of release, the earned goodbye, the final thought of a job well done, will tickle your fancy, and you will make the choice to leave for what is next.
Before you go, you will smile, and then you will glow…and shortly after, you will go. The smile will linger in the hearts you knew, and many years later, you shall finally be gone.
Then, the smile will be complete.
By Kevin Hughes