The rhythm of time

moving through time 2

‘The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.’ – Rabindranath Tagore

‘The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.’ – Rabindranath Tagore

I listen to the rhythm of his breath. The rise and the fall! The rhythmic sounds draws me in and I kiss his sweet lips, I can smell his breath – A milk scent. I used to inhale his milky breath when he fed off my breasts. I can’t help but feel an ache in my chest with remembrance of the week he weaned himself.  For tonight, I long for that scent,that feeling.

I write in my journal as he sleeps reflecting on my day. Thanking the blessings, acknowledging thoughts, when my mind wondered to the thought of time. I looked over at the clock, I’d been writing for hours and the only sound that can be heard is his breath and the occasion car that drives past. Mr. Kypo and my older babes are out.

Time is a funny thing. I’ve wished it away, I’ve wished it still and other times, I have no regard or need for it.

I remember when all three babes were born and in the blissful days, weeks that follow, I relished in their time.  Time from a clock had no meaning.

My girl, so small and fragile I would cradle her, drink her in cocooned in Mr. Kypo’s arms. We’d just stare at her. Kiss her. Look at each other and stare some more. Loving eyes fixated on her. She would cry, my breast soothed her. My heart swelled so big knowing what unconditional love feels like. It was summer, the warmth in the air, still and thick. I wished for time not to tick another second.

My boy, my middle boy! He all mine. Milk drunk on my breast, he’d collapse his body into my chest. We perfectly moulded together. Mr. Kypo cocooned us in his arms, on a different lounge, in a different home and I wanted to pause. My boy, my middle boy and I  slept together. I’d wake to feed him through the darkness of the night, he my company in our bed while Mr. Kypo and my girl drove to visit Mr. Kypo’s family. Time ticked over, my awareness of it seemed to only be day and night. Outside the noise of the cicada’s echoed! The summer air was humid.

My baby boy, belonging to all of us. The curtains open, the light in our lounge -room warming us as I sit on our lounge. A different lounge, a different home bare chested, he too, skin on skin  nuzzling on my breast. Mr. Kypo sitting with us! I moved toward him and he marveled. His eyes reflected love, wonder and creation. We did it again. He fed me, he nurtured me, loved me. Time wasn’t still, I  didn’t wish it to be. I wished it would hurry. I longed for our older kidlets to be finished school, be at home where we are all complete. It was spring, the flowers were blooming the sun was subtle and birth was in the air.

My heart fills with a knowing tonight. As I write I can feel them. I’m back in the present moment of time. I hear the key in the front door they are home. I know it’s late, cars in our street can be heard more frequently, perhaps there destination is home too.

Time draws me in, reminding me to remember, to be still  and give blessings for it. Be in it and ignore the binding a clock can have.