The foot of the child that touches the earth
by Aurelia Dreulma writer, translated from the French by David P. Johnson
French version / Version en Français ici : « Le pied de l’enfant qui touche terre » Children imitate us. Stop the cycle of violence and give children your best…
The first day you saw me, you looked at me, and you called me « mother » … It is you who made me understand … With your round eyes, black you spoke to me of yourself offering me your landscapes from the soul of a child … It was you who showed me what it is … to be a mother.
Son of life,
son of my heart,
son of planet Earth …
You are not “You are nothing!”
You are not « my fears ».
You are not « my desires ».
You are not « my projections.”
Son, you belong to yourself.
Son, you belong to Jah.
Son, you belong to the Earth and the Sun.
Son, your roots are the entire planet.
You are the child of Humanity
your crib is Africa,
your bed is the earth,
your journey is that of the landowner,
your share is with your sisters and brothers.
Your food comes from free labor,
from the sun who sows,
and of the earth who creates,
and you always have this memory
in all of your cells.
Memory of Homo sapiens.
Memory of the creation of the universe.
Nine months to pass from the stars to the water, to have your feet touch the ground.
Your mother could not be there, she is gone.
You are not for nothing.
Your father confided in me, since he knew me, but more, above all, because you chose me.
Your hands clung to my clothes.
Your head rested on my knees at the end of each day.
After dinner, while you were sleeping cradled in my arms, or relaxed on the pillows, your head on my knees while I finished eating and speaking. This was an activity of the unfolding of your day, of your efforts, of your adventures.
The house smelled of incense and cooking, spices, the wood fire. A blanket protected you from the cold. And so, later in the evening, I carried you to your bed, where your magic dreams continued.
Before the meal you washed and changed clothes.
So, on your horse warrior, you could fly away to your new adventures.
Your feet tapped the ground in order to grow. Your hair reflected the light. Breakfasts often turned into jokes and laughter, slow gestures and falling asleep from each one, glances still full of dreams.
How many activities, running races, games, homework, lunches to discuss, banquets, dances!
Your help in everything I did, your kindness. Yes there was anger and “No!”s; you had some, but that is part of learning, so as an example, I stayed calm, patient, determined in my decisions, making you do physical exercises if necessary, and walking too.
How much energy is in a strong child, this need to grow, these difficulties in learning everything at the same time, between channeling all this fullness of vitality, emotion, learning the customs and using the liveliness of the spirit, the agility, the dexterity, the balance, language, numbers, who one is, from where we come, what is around us, what we don’t know, what is on the other side of the earth, small sciences, the art of returning the reply, music, poetry, drawing, fishing for shellfish and so many more things!
And so I learned the earthly paradise, the bliss of facing life, the very tender marveling of a mother.
Your efforts to become an independent being, strong, at the height of your aspirations, deserve what they earn with this simplicity of being, such as you are. I wanted you to remain humble. Learning patience, without shooting ahead. Our rituals were brought to you step by step until your emancipation.
One day you wanted to offer me earrings, gold and blue-turquoise pendants. This surprised me, your father too. You had refused to make the gift to show another way of offering what appeared marvelous to your heart. I am not permitted to refuse, or to interpret. I listened, accepted, without saying anything, contemplating your happiness. Thank you …
I did not talk to you as a friend to maintain the dialogue, and each of our roles.
Your cries of joy in my ears every morning.
Your appetite so full of your existence in life.
Your hopes and dreams confided in our discussions.
My hand firm with gentleness, with which I supported you.
Your joy and laughter transported me, each worry disappeared.
I was able to overcome every hardship.
I was able to overcome the absence of your father.
I was able to overcome injustices, judging glances of harsh opinions and criticisms.
I could understand adoption and fathers who do not give birth and yet are fathers.
I could love all the children of the earth.
I could see in every adult the child who had learned to put his feet on the ground.
I could love all mankind as far as the stars.
I could understand, to forgive.
But I could not accept everything.
I felt the strength to overcome the mountains to traverse the ocean from one end to another, to walk through the desert to tell you the most wonderful stories, because you inspired in me the magic of the heart. The “re-co-naissance” (re-knowing) of common birth. You also invented for me some beautiful stories. Together we learned to know each other. With you I also discovered who I am, I saw my reactions, my questions my realizations about the human condition.
I did not speak to you of my doubts, since I did not forget that you were a child. There were family and friends in whom I confided. It is not just the parents who raise a child and who transfer teachings.
Parents do not have a disproportionate power or knowledge.
We do not know everything, we do not do everything we are not the center of the world …
We cannot be the only authority, otherwise, children lack « oxygen, » freedom, learning to live in society and to not be afraid of everyone, and to not feel excluded or superior to the world of humanity.
The whole family, the neighbors, the village, the school, friends, nurses, encounters; all contribute to the education and to the handing-down of knowledge to children. This does not take anything away from the role of parents, on the contrary, because in any event, they are irreplaceable.
I entrusted my secrets to your grandparents. It is to the elders, to those who have the experience, to the medicine man and woman, in whom I confided my doubts and my pains.
Of wife, and of mother.
You, you had the benefit, the result, the gift, in our relationship from parent to child, because you calmed yourself each time you felt that I was happy, confident in me and my decisions, and, my actions.
The silence took on a musical scale this well-being, well-born, comforting.
To the living heart, without chains. You demanded that I take care of myself, I do not forget myself, to be still standing, woman, whatever happens, to always be there, all my life.
You compared your little feet with the round heels to mine, flat and full of calluses, saying that one day yours would be flat and bigger than mine. That you would tap with your feet the rhythm to dance on the earth until you could do better than me.
Secretly, I hoped very much that you would give yourself the right and desire to do better than me and your father. And you were right, because to be a woman, to be a man, it’s your whole life, but to be a parent, also…
We all have moments of weakness in our lives and a humble parent knows he is going to be there for his child; the day will come when he will see his offspring in trouble. It is for the child to discover it, it is not for the parent to tell him …
And how would you have had a response to the needs of a child, if I had watched over you, like I do for myself?
If I had not watched over you like I do for myself?
If I had made you believe that I know everything about you and for you?
If I had let myself die of hunger, how would you have eaten after my death?
What life force would I have offered you?
What hopes for your future would I have offered you?
It’s very difficult to be a parent, to be fair.
Being fair does not mean saying yes to everything, or saying no to everything, or giving up.
There are some very difficult and very important decisions that require a lot of reflection, and to prepare oneself. The perfect parent does not exist.
There is in this encounter, the separation that draws nearer, the day when the child gathers momentum in order to create his own life, the day when inevitable death from old age takes away the parents.
There is the need to prepare for this by trying to think about it, and to be fair in our thoughts, in our words, in our actions.
There are decisions that are coming which are independent of us as parents, but which require that we reflect on them, and prepare ourselves for them. So as not to bend, and not to regret.
To live in the present, conscious of the after.
To anticipate with empathy …
Discernment. Benevolence. Wisdom.
Our children, born, adopted do not belong to us. They belong to themselves.
As K. Gilbran said:
« Parents are the bow, children the arrow.”
The day when the children leave, we just advise them,
support them, but we cannot live their lives for them.
We can only help them if they will help themselves.
We can save them from drowning, but we cannot swim for them.
One day I returned you back to life.
I accepted that you were leaving.
I prayed to Jah.
Not that you return to me.
Since your life is always your own, between you and life.
But I prayed to Jah that you will always move ahead!
And I offered my trust to you a second time.
The first time was at our first meeting.
I kept my commitments.
I returned you to life.
Love offered. Sincere love. True love. Grateful love.
I prayed to Jah that you always follow your path, the heart clean, sober, your actions and intentions respectful. Your property and your knowledge shared fairly with your brothers and sisters.
Because without sharing, this ego swells in its desire for power that is dirty, that destroys, that dehumanizes.
I prayed to Jah that he will guide and protect you, and bless you.
I prayed to Jah that he gives you what you need, not less, not more, just the right amount, depending on what you have to do.
I love you my child of the planet earth!
From the beginning up to the stars!
Written by Aurelia Dreulma – Tara Sol. Translated from the French by David P. Johnson
One day David P. Johnson said to me that my papers had to be known from the whole world, and he suggested me translating from it. One thank you with all my gratitude to him my friend.
* This pamphlet discusses and gives witness to several lives, and ways of education that are non-Western, but African, and it addresses the subject of adoption. It was written in 2009 and dedicated to the children, and Cyril O.
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Mots-clefs :Education, Partage, Rasta, Transmission
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