… when I heard, “Ay, Baba…” yesterday during a short video call. It wasn’t just the words… it wasn’t just the voice… it wasn’t just the brief flash of who said it. It was the combination of all three… and more. And the “more” wasn’t just an attachment to fond memories from so long ago.
Those two words… ordinarily a toss away line, were wrapped in the embrace of familiarity and affection. With those two words the years and distance between melted away. I found myself instantly floating in an ocean sensation of home… one of reassurance that I did not have to prove myself… that I belong by just being me.
The words came from my father’s godson who is long married to my cousin. I will be meeting them this weekend in San Francisco… and dearly looking forward to it. It’s been close to 40 years since we were happily in each others company.
Last night, still in the glow of that moment from the morning, I marveled at how something so simple could have such a profound effect. In one fell swoop one’s place in the world is validated and guaranteed. It’s like the fog of existence clears and you are there… present… whole.
Sometimes we hear it from a parent or a friend. Sometimes it’s in a touch or a look… the unspoken. The last time I felt it was from a lover. It is that quiet explosion within. The one that opens up the hidden floodgate and sings like a soft and gentle aria.
But we don’t hear or feel that quite often enough… at least, I don’t. Not like that.
And this sort of “singing heart” is different from the type one gets via an accomplishment… or the acknowledgement of one. That tune sings more of, “I have arrived!” Nor is it the same as in the communal solidarity of, “We did it together!” Those are no less exhilarating… but not quite the same.
This kind of singing heart appears every once in a while to remind us that we are here without the need to earn our place. That just being oneself is enough… in itself… unconditional and complete.