"Time to close your eyes
so sleep can come around;
for when you dream you'll find,
all that's lost is found.
Maybe on the moon
or maybe somewhere new,
maybe all you're missing
lives inside of you..."
This morning, Lisa - my sister-in-law once removed, suggested that I might want to listen to the lullaby, "The Place Where the Lost Things Go" from the new film, Mary Poppins Returns. We live in a mountain town without a movie theater anywhere within the radius of an hour and a half. In the winter -- movies mean navigating snowy passes. So we just don't see anything new until the snow melts. Thank goodness for the internet!
I went right to Youtube, and within a few moments I was weeping. Oh my, what a song! Lisa couldn't have shared it with me at a more perfect moment.
Earlier this morning, in the half-light of dawn -- that inbetween time of timeless space between sleeping and waking -- I dreamed. And in my dreaming, the girls -- all three of my daughters -- were with me on the Cape. We swam in the ocean like dolphins and picked up shells and alabaster stones on the beach.
Afterwards, as we were changing into dry clothes I realized that Emma and Clara were about 4 years old. I felt like I had been given the greatest gift. Their little bodies were sun-kissed and soft. They were silly and eager. I could hear them singing The Beatles, "Eight Days a Week," as clearly as if they were sitting behind me in their carseats as we drove along the sandy Cape Cod roads.
It was such a sweet return to the place where a happy moment lived. And it was fully alive for me. I was completely aware that I was "dreaming," and yet, there was nothing lost in the past, about this experience. I was fully conscious. I was happily cherishing the gift of being with their little girl selves again.
I woke remembering every second of it. I woke with the happiest feeling in my heart and tears on my cheeks. I wasn't remembering a lost moment from the past. I was experiencing the "now" of my love for them.
This may not seem like a particularly metaphysical post. But it is - for me. It is all about Life. It is not filled with quotes or insights. Just love. A love, that alone, is Life. And because, as Mary Baker Eddy writes, "Love alone is Life," Love is always present, always alive -- never in the past. And sometimes, this Love fills us so full -- that it bubbles over in our moments of deepest stillness and becomes visceral -- experiential. It is a gift that comes with such deep tenderness.
I will listen to this lullaby many times today. And maybe tomorrow too. Thank you Lisa for thinking of me when you heard it. That means more to me than you know.
Perhaps you will sing it for me one day.
offered with Love,