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My goddaughter's finally been born this week. Rosalyn Ruth Martin, Seven pounds eight ounces and one of the most impossibly happy healthy infants I am yet to see.
What is it about the experience of holding a newborn that feels so wonderful? Is it the comparitive power you feel at holding something so fragile in your hands or that implication of Yoda-like wisdom in their eyes, like they know something important and would tell you if only they knew how the hell their mouth worked.
What's more the father, in spite of being a nonsecular Christian, wants me to hold a share in the responsibility in her spiritual upbringing, which to him means facilitating her making her own choices. Sheesh, talk about a sensation of power compared to something fragile. I knew I'd been studying world religion, mythology, and esoterica for the last few years for a reason and I guess this is it.
Add to this the rediscovery of a long thought lost friend and a really good audition and I couldn't feel better. |
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