ian was my cloud-castle
ian was my dream.

the love was always the love
with my ian.

i was his beautiful bird
he was my beautiful boy

he was my gentleness of heart
he was all my day and all of my night

i love my ian for ever.

when i come back it will always be
beth and ian.

I am a tiger and a fawn.
The she-wolf that screams to the moon at dusk
And the meadowlark that whistles to the sun at dawn.
I am darkness and I am light
Flipping my tangled hair to the cascading stars at night
Lifting my hands in prayer, releasing the morning birds to flight.
And I will protect them,
These birds of freedom.
I will carve their songs
Deeply into my heart
And set aside a space
Where the cruelty of this world
Cannot, ever, tear them apart.
So laugh my little children,
And sing your songs of glory,
You are safe
You are heard
And you are worthy.

--it is,  how very
tremendously cute you are,
and how your little stinkerlings
climb all over me;  their
trusting little Spirits drinking in all things, Daddy

And within you, dwells  all of the
fullness of their childlike hope, ******
And within them dwells hope's fire--
aflame within each little set of eye's
sparkle

Yet, beautiful Mommy--

There is a brutality, embedded deeply into
God's Love
that all but compels me to call you out
on almost seemingly-random things:
things that push up (almost fiercely)
against all things within you, stubborn
but they benefit..

                       they benefit.

And you fight against me-- even to your own detriment,
and I am reminded  then of the same fight shown--  emanating
from a young,  forming child's spirit:


           "No"   is the first word that should
                                          form freely
            within the mouth of a young spirit,
                                    aching deeply...

           within the depths  of the loved self
           for the true meaning of the word,  

                                           Autonomy.

An­d there is no loss  of love
in their little movements  towards separateness

And there is no price to pay for speaking the truth in love
nor, is there a payment owed, for speaking it  in defiance
and separateness, even to the point of  eventual separation
need never have to come at the cost of love--

the truly-loved, freely formed, self
is a beautiful, magical thing to behold, indeed.


And your participation in to it all, little-one's sweet Mommy

is a celebration in itself.