Tip of the Spear

The child does not stand alone.
His mother stands behind him at his side.
His father stands beside her.
Their hands rest on the child’s shoulders.

He sees reality.
Feels it. Senses the truth.
The mother gives him strength to bear the pain of it all.
The father gives him faith to face his fear.

They stand as the holy trinity pressing into the future.
Behind them, their parents line up,
Generation after generation—
A mountain of people.

A pyramid in time:
Four behind them, then eight,
Sixteen, thirty two, sixty four and so on,
The exponential inheritance of life.

He is the eye of the mountain,
The tip of the spear,
Everything that came before
And more.

He sees the past clearly,
So he won’t repeat it.
He looks toward the future,
So he becomes responsible for it.

Responsible for everything:
Repairing the past, choosing what’s next.
The weight is not crushing,
It’s ecstatic!

At the helm of destiny,
The center is in the center.
Tears and laughter braid together,
In a dance with the wind.

He forgives the ones that came before.
He sees their unmet needs,
Their trauma handed down for generations.
He ends the transmission.

He mothers and fathers himself,
In ways the originals could not.
Integration is not the goal, only a step,
So the past stays in the past.

What’s next for us?
Love will open the way.
Joy will forge the path.
The world will meet us half way.

Eye do not carry the mountain.
The mountain carries Eye.
When the next step is known,
We will refuse to take it.

Our pyramids point in the same direction.
We are all aligned; conflict is an illusion.
Have no fear, the mystery will unfold.
The wound is the treasure. The obstacle, the way.