Once upon a time I was a mother of a little baby.
When she was a little flurb I used to delight in handing her off to people. Not just any people, only the people who obviously liked babies. That was the only criterion, though. And I didn’t hand her off forever, just for a few minutes. I’d hand her off and then stand back and watch the magic.
The magic was in her being-ness. I was amused and astounded by the power this little human had. She’d lie there, wrapped in her flurb-wear and in someone’s arms and they’d get all…real. Just holding her made them happy and vulnerable and present to the moment. Simply looking at her little face and feeling her little hand wrapped around one of their fingers could do as much for a person’s Inner Peace and Harmony as a year of dedicated meditation practice might have done. That little baby was more powerful than anyone I’d ever seen and she wasn’t doing a darned thing. She was just being.
I realize that a new mother responding to virtually anyone commenting on the cuteness of her baby with, “Wanna hold her”? is pretty strange. But I considered it sort of an on-going experiment. It turned out to be one that worked predictably every single time.
My little daughter was completely vulnerable, present, honest, and cute. She didn’t want anything from the people who held her. She just...was. And it seemed like whoever was holding her just got lost in her world for a few seconds or a few minutes, and they too became vulnerable and present and cute. She couldn’t even stand up and yet she seemed to have a comic book hero’s Super Power. She could melt people with her gaze.
Every person was once a baby, and we all have remnants of that Super Power within us. We can love more powerfully than an angry word, and leap tall defenses with a single touch. If we want to. The baby is vulnerable by design. We must be vulnerable by choice. And there’s the rub.
Physicists say that since all the material of our Earth is made from the material of the universe, then everything on earth was once a star. Including us. We are made of stardust. Maybe the Super Power of babies is that they’re still aware of that, somehow. Maybe they’re just naturally beaming the power of the Universe onto everything they see. Maybe they can see the stardust in the grown-ups that hold them, and what we love is that stellar reflection of ourselves in their eyes.
On these ever-darkening days of December we must look for, and take in, light wherever we can find it. Look in the mirror and see the light in your own eyes. You are made of stardust.