The day draws down as the sun sets, the house quiets, and my littlest one snuggles close to me in our evening ritual. He reaches out, grasps my hair, gazes into my eyes, and compels me to let go of whatever keeps me from complete engagement. As I watch the movement of his eyes and hands, I am overwhelmed with wonder by the coming together of instinct and personality, bodily and energetic processes, individuality and interconnection, all in this microcosmic, nourishing moment.

Ten short weeks ago, we were so new to one another this way; now, the habitual rhythm is easy to overlook busy hour to busy hour. It just happens, like the growth of my baby I only notice in sudden spurts of surprise. He is growing fast, and so am I, thanks to his tutelage. Neither of us is the same person as we were when we first met face to freshly-born face. Who is this small being before me? I look into his eyes and dream of who he will be.

Then, I realize this is another distraction from the present person I have the opportunity to discover here and now. I refocus. I listen to his grunts and sniffs, smile as he smiles and softly speaks in his own lovely song, breathe deep the smell of his skin, and gently trace my fingers through his fuzzy hair. We look and look and look at each other. Who does he see?

I am humbled by the thought that he does not dream of who I will become - he happily accepts me here and now. He is teaching me to do the same. In innumerable ways, I am a stranger unto myself, just as my child is both intimate to my being's core and simultaneously someone I can never fully know.

The world is just like that. We can dream of what it will become, but the only way to the future is through this Now. Who are you, new world quietly breathing? What do you see when you look at me?