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Rituals

You all know I brag about my grandson, Little Guy, and like everyone’s grandbaby, he’s a genius.  All my grandbabies are, for sure.

Only in Little Guy’s case, that’s also his doctors’ opinions.  Several doctors’ opinions.

Sing a song to him once and he sings it back to you – not flawlessly, not yet, but clearly he gets the idea at once. He’s now on a musical kick and the minute I get home from work he wants quality time with Grandma, curled up next to me and watching nursery tunes on YouTube. It’s our nightly ritual.  He names off the song(s) he wants to hear, but also enjoys hearing something new at every turn.

It’s beyond just smart, though; he knows things by all rights he shouldn’t. He cites songs by name that he’s never heard.  When he was at the doctor’s office she asked him to march, which he did, in flawless rhythym – and which he didn’t learn from anyone we know.

Over the weekend we acquired a telescope.  If anyone ever mentioned it to the baby we don’t know when it happened.  He wasn’t even here until late last night.

This afternoon Little Guy toddled into the office, went straight to it and attempted to look through the eyepiece, closing one eye and looking with the other.  He called it a telescope and became very, very upset when I took him away from it.  It sent goose bumps up my arm.  This child went beyond fascination with a toy – he knew exactly what it was and how to use it.  If that were the only such instance I’d dismiss it as our own forgetfulness, but we’re seeing more and more comparable scenarios.

I have always been a bit ambivalent about reincarnation.  A part of me reasons that past lives are the product of vivid imagination and willful self-delusion.  The rest of me says the only delusion is denying the obvious.  There’s a real body of evidence to suggest that reincarnation is real.  It’s an assumption in the far east and as a result, death doesn’t carry the same degree of dread as it does here.  It’s considered little more than a rite of passage.

Little Guy is forcing me to look long and hard at my doubts.  I can’t honestly imagine any other explanation for some of the things he knows.

All of this coincides with a spiritual journey for my older daughter, as well.  She and I have been chatting and texting back and forth about a number of things, and she is discovering for herself a lot of the things I’d read or otherwise learned a few years ago.  The focus has been on the Divine Feminine and how western and middle-eastern history has done its best to rip out all references to females and power.  It wasn’t always that way; in Hebrew Synagogues there is still, if I understand correctly, a subdued acknowledgement of Shekhinah, the wife of God.  Christianity refers to Her as the Holy Spirit, but western religion stripped away the feminine reference.

Once I learned that, I was offended by the degree to which my own former church emphasized that the Holy Spirit was a male.  It also made a lot of sense on many, many levels.

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