If you're wondering about the significance of girlism or feminism or sexism or racism or barbarism, if you're wondering about when the war will start or who in blogland is picking fights with whom, who's spouting silliness or who's dangerous or who means what by which comment, or who's making themselves feel better for their puny life by taking shots at an article you appeared in, or who knows what they're talking about and who doesn't. If you're wondering why you care or don't care, you need to do one simple thing.
Lay down with a child; watch them let go of the day.
Not a pet. Not a lover. A child.
Listen to her stories, to her final fury of lucid thoughts before she gives in to sleep; listen to her questions, always profound at this time of the night, about God and oceans, about life and death, about how she'll never be 90 years old.
Be quiet and listen to her. Sketch her face with your eyes as she stares out the window at the stars from the universe that is her covers. Follow her breath with your own, in and out, and wait for the moment when she releases the day.
Then rest there longer. Let her dreams climb into yours, feel the softness of her small hands, and feel so blessed for that moment, and feel sadness for anyone who hasn't experienced it, ache for anyone who has had it and lost it, and realize that sadness will one day be yours, when you don't have her night time anymore.
Touch her hair, brush her cheek gently, and kiss her softly as you rise.
And wonder how anyone makes it through the day without this waiting for them at the end of it.
