The other night, I was woken up at 3am by a soft whisper in my ear, "Love. Over. Time." (source unknown) Three words.
I was wide awake and didn't feel like knitting, or watching something, or meditating or doing anything. I just wanted to lay in bed. So, I stared up at the white ceiling and tossed the words around, playing a kind of word boggle with them...
"Love, over time, ..."
"Time over love."
"Love over time."
I wondered what the significance of the message was. Where was I supposed to go with these three words... what wisdom was I to extract? I drifted slowly back to sleep as the words still danced around in my mind. When I woke up in the morning, I wrote them down on a post it note and put it on one of the walls of our workspace.
"I'll just let you percolate until you're ready to let me know what you need me to know," I told the post it note.
Today as I folded and put away baby clothes in their drawers, the words came back to mind so strongly. A lot of the clothes I was putting away for our new baby used to belong to siblings. I was softly fingering tiny cotton socks, caressing and smelling muslin blankets, holding up and admiring teeny newborn outfits and I was suddenly in awe of the passage of time.
My kids have far outgrown these clothes. The wheel has taken many turns since they were born. They are different. I am different. And then I thought, "Love, over time, grows."
Love, over time, transmutes into something else.
Love, over time, returns to you.
Love, over time, is more freely given.
Love, over time, is enough.
Love, over time, creates space and freedom.
...and a tidal wave of other thoughts about love and raising children drowned me in barrels of emotion, while holding these tiny pieces of cloth that another little person is about fill and grow out of. And so on and so forth, in both directions. It just goes on and on forever, doesn't it?
I feel so small and so large right now.