Ocean in a Paper Cup

The independent, feminist, rocker Ani Di Franco advises me that you can't contain the ocean in a paper cup.

The Vietnamese, Buddhist sage Thich Nhat Hahn instructs me that I can consume the ocean in a drop of water.

We can't hold onto that which is too vast and lovely and powerful and beautiful by insisting it be contained in some vessel that is out of scale, out of pace, out of durability.

I forget this when I get annoyed that my six year old son takes an hour to eat an egg and piece of toast because there are ideas to explore, gadgets to try, concepts to explore, wiggles to stretch, urine to secrete, secrets to unfold.

Then I help my three year old daughter on with her tights. I hold HER tight, on my lap. I smell the softness of her flowing hair. I assess her strong and now steady legs that still contain the armor of softness, shielding her from womanhood. I raise each tight smoothly and thoroughly up her leg, making sure the crotch hits in just the right place-not too saggy, not too high. I know it's probably futile, but I try nonetheless and desperately to ensure her comfort. Her innocence, her growing limbs, our intimacy, her inevitable separation are all contained in this moment.

Her brother looks at me. Long body, long limbs but still with that soft, baby face. Baby legs...baby face. He looks at me with long lashed, twinkling eyes. He needs to brush his teeth but has to do "just one more thing," and needs to "tell me one more thing."

Tell me, sweet boy. Tell me to slow down. Quench my seemingly insatiable thirst to be somewhere, do something, be someone. Quench my thirst with one delicious drop of inquiry, one delicious distraction.

I wish to hold, hold, hold, but I know all of this can't be contained. It's too vast, it's too deep, it's too powerful. The river of time drains methodically, predictably towards the ocean and my paper cup just ain't strong enough. But if I just let it go, for this moment, I will feel the sweet refreshment wash over me like a sky freshly washed from rain, like an eye freshly washed from tears.