Under Santa Fe Skies

by Susan Tungate

A Note to My Unborn Nephew

Dear Little One,

This is your Great Aunt Susie. I know it is warm and cozy in there, but it is seriously time for you to emerge ever so gently, smoothly and efficiently from your Mother. Many people are awaiting your arrival, excited to hold you and look into your eyes and tell you we love you. Imagine. You are not yet born and you are loved unconditionally by so many. I should add you could not have chosen better parents. They even come with dogs.

As a bit of encouragement for you to take your first big journey, I offer this poem called “Wean Yourself” by the great poet Rumi:

Little by little, wean yourself.

This is the gist of what I have to say. 

From an embryo, whose nourishment comes in the blood,

move to an enfant drinking milk,

to a child on solid food,

to a searcher after wisdom,

to a hunter of more invisible game. 

Think how it is to have a conversation with an embryo.

You might say, “The world is vast and intricate.

There are wheat fields and mountain passes, and orchards in bloom. 

At night there are millions of galaxies, and in sunlight

the beauty of friends dancing at a wedding.”

You ask the embryo why he or she stays cooped up in the dark with eyes closed.

Listen to the answer:

“There is no other world. I only know what I have experienced.

You must be hallucinating.” 

So, my Great Nephew, come join us. You have wonders to see and a grand life to live surrounded by love. And you have much to teach us. 

Love,

Aunt Susie

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