On Children lyrics interpreted by Sweet Honey in the Rock (Kahlil Gibran author of original text) Your children are not your children; They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you But they are not from you And though they are with you They belong not to you. You may give them your love But not your thoughts, They have their own thoughts. They have their own thoughts. You can house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in a place of tomorrow, Which you cannot visit, Not even in your dreams. You can strive to be like them, But you cannot make them just like you. Strive to be like them But you cannot make them just like you On Children from the group Sweet Honey in the Rock song played from the car’s CD player when my now 18-year-old* was a baby. I have recited these lyrics to myself, read them, and played the song many times since those early days. The lyrics are true every time, becoming truer with each repetition, helping me navigate what it is to be a parent. Some days the revelation fills me with awe. They explain some piece of their mind to me or write a poem or a new chapter in their novel or show compassion to a friend, and I know for certain they have their own thoughts and that I can only strive to be like them. Other days, that awe converts to frustration for the exact same events because their independence proves that they are not mine even when I want them to be. *uses they/them pronouns in English, elle in Spanish
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How do we find normal in bat shit crazy times and function in the middle of survival? When do we realize we have one thing in common and we still can't find normal in bat shit crazy times? In the middle of survival, we discover we can't swallow We can't swallow We can't swallow through the breadth of our despair If we don't stop Playing the same music and Doing the same dance steps We won't stop Fearing that tomorrow is exactly like today In the middle of survival, we can't swallow our despair If we don't start Playing different music and Practicing our new dance steps We won't start Moving past survival In bat shit crazy times |
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