Tag: parents

The Pressure of Light


Jia’s lemon tea is red with leaf brew. It is like her : all pressured to be a safe mom. Her 2 year old isn’t speaking yet, she worries. (We meet for the first time through a mutual friend. The child has a face like a waiting dawn: fascinated I play with her in the floor mat).

Bini – the child loves Incy wincy spider whom she met at kindergarten today. We do a spider dance with our fingers; hers are tiny in mine. Dearest God, the child has light spilling off her ears! She likes Piggie snorts that she heard on kid TV. We do Piggie snorts and get the giggles. Bini starts speaking long sentences now- her words seem to jumble but she’s telling me about Jelly bears and cup cakes all at once with Incy Wincy wiggles, Piggie snorts and million syllables choreographed in toddler tumbles. Jia grins,

More tea?” Her voice is happy silk; she has large black doe eyes that begin to dance at Bini dragging in a raggedy zebra with one eye and matted mane. More tea steams in gaudy mint: Jia’s piggy snorts are now beyond my decibels. I grab a sip and let the lemon in my throat. Laughter changes the pressure, like Light does. Joy weighs me out : its unruly garments tumbling us out to play ~ Jia looking like a child herself…

the pressure of light 
dances its brew in our skin 
dawn to dusk to dawn 

At d’Verse, writers were prompted to compose haibun on the theme of ‘pressure’.


To Dance with the Fabulous Unseen

In response to the Five minute Friday’s “Choose

Light. Shining. Via our son’s blindness? This is not what we yelled for at altars. This is not what we asked …

the Almighty, and when He never answered we sulked hard at the unanswered prayer.

This dawn am staring at how I’ve misunderstood the Act of not getting what I asked, and how it morphs me into a person one would never prescribe for their self… cuz the basic human request (esp this parent’s) is pretty self focused.

Watching him in the Light of a growing sun or dusk, is staring at his Joy not dependant on external conditions, as I am. He doesn’t know how blindness separates the seen from the Unseen.

What’s it like for him to never see my face, but touch me and experience my love for him? To never see the sun but feel its warmth in his skin. Am humbled this morning at the hugeness of Light,and how it can spill out of even my own response…re-writing my own thoughts that spiral down, and oh into the Unseen Dayspring in the cellars of inner blindness;

often I Choose to pursue sadness. But on days as these, the Light hits the shutters of my mind, leaving me no Choice but to dance with the fabulous All Mighty Light.