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There are rare and precious moments that remind me of how small and insignificant a child of the universe I am without creeping the ever-loving bajeezus out of me. Yes, at times my ego runs on all four cylinders. But alone with my son, in the back yard the other day, I came across a small glimpse of meaning into the setup of things.

It was grand and simple and made perfect sense.

There we were watching the sunset over the farmland landscape that stretches out from our back yard. I stood with my son in my arms and pointed. “Sun,” I said. As we turned around to go in for the evening we saw a brightly lit waxing orb centered perfectly over the house. I stopped after gazing and pointed again. “Moon,” I told him. And then I did the only other thing that made any sense to me. I pointed to the open field of grass below our feet and with a broad sweeping circle said, “Earth.”

I repeated this lesson of connect-the-dots for a while, until all of a sudden it turned into a kind of healing meditation. We weren’t just looking at this setup. He and I were a part of it. This was a profound moment for me to stumble upon—that is, if one can believe to stumble upon such moments. But I’ve started to take notice when I see all my ducks lined up in a row.

Not entirely unrelated: Richard Butler, Isaac Newton, William Blake

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 19th, 2006 at 10:57 pm and is filed under fatherhood, journal, stinkyface. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.