Halloween Picasso

So many precious moments I’ve lived, putting him to sleep after a long story. That sweet sweet interlude afterwards as he drifts off to paradise.


His vocal chords and heartstrings concert skywards in an aural swoop, as good as any sax crescendo build, or better, a prelude to a bansuri climax, which instantly floods my soul with lovewarmth and displaces its prior content. I empty.


So cute the way he pauses a moment to make sure that I’ve clicked in, before continuing his song.

-I’m a lit-tle scared.

Now I am completely and joyfully in his possession. He punctuates the ‘little’ in a rhythmic spume of signifying, as he tastes his inner mood, fleeting but singular and definite. So precise his tasting, that I am telepathized into his atmosphere, glimpsing its color in a synesthesic empathy, bestowed — certainly not my conscious doing.

My warmness travels out, and in the process increases inside me as well. (Not a zero-sum game, love.) And within this sheltering gesture my hand kneads gently his upper back and head on his pillow. I strain to become child, un-membraned from the constant swirl of feeling currents bathing all that we perceive and dwell within. I do not want to lose the potential delicacy of what is being transmitted. Keeping physical contact, I await the right nanosecond.

-Because of the story?


His rendition of this word contains at least three syllables, a cadence. I wait, he is formulating more…

-Something inside me, in my ‘magination.

Already a wondrous victory this. Happens once or twice a week, the fear, anxiety. But now he begins shifting the focus within.

-Something that might try to get you?


I tell him how cool his ‘magination is. How he could make it picture smashing victories in which he vanquishes all enemies. He is the hero. Nothing scares him. He can think absolutely anything he wants to. Then we wait a moment or two.

-good now?

I soothe his head and neck lightly. And with my voice too.


Different from his previous ‘yeah’. Calmly declarative. His breathing deepens and slows in a matter of seconds, and I feel him relaxing into pre-sleep, his whole being. Daddy loves you, I think, good night.


[ Image : a chalk drawing he made which I fell in love with around last Halloween — We’d been talking about the insect world and how some of them have a hundred eyes inside each eye, and totally different ways of smelling and detecting things. ] 

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  1. Sweet story. You describe the situation so well, we can see that he’s a wonderfully intelligent child. His drawing is very expressive too. “Imagination is more important than knowledge, knowledge is limited, imagination encircles the world” Einstein understood the power of creative thought.


    1. Thanks alot Judy 🙂 Yes, pretty much I see the core responsibility of mine towards him as doing everything possible to keep his imagination healthy, unattacked, and expanding in the face of this difficult world.


      1. That’s wonderful. I wish all children could be encouraged to be imaginative, I think it teaches them how to learn and perceive vs being told what to do.

      2. yes, me too. which is pretty clearly what the world could use more of. From what I see, many gifted ones come to us this way, and our educational orthodoxy is busy tamping it down in them.

  2. How absolutely beautifully put into words. The details in description gave me such a clear view into what was happening in his voice and in your strong comfort for him. ❤️
    Thank you for this, warms my heart


    1. You’re so very welcome, 🙂 What more can a writer ask for than this kind of acknowledgment from a colleague? Thanks sincerely. ❤️ Plus it is good to see & hear when others take note of and value personalized parental efforts.


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