I wrote the below before I even found out that I was pregnant. It has been a crazy 18 months but I think the message below rings even truer than before.
I have always said that I should be the one to thank you, my clients, for inviting me on your different journeys. The work that I am so privileged to do, has nothing to do with me ‘doing’ anything to or for you, but rather just facilitating the process of what you innately know how to do – heal yourself! Yes, I don’t love using that word, but ultimately it is the most appropriate in describing what you do. I am not nor will I ever be a healer. I cannot heal anyone, only youcan heal yourself.
So, not only do I get to thank each and every one of you for allowing me to be a part of your journey, I also get to thank each and every one of you for everything you teach me.
As most of you know, I do not have children of my own, yet. I recently had the unfortunate experience of seeing a very close family member in hospital and was shocked by how the situation rattled me emotionally. It got me thinking. What on earth am I going to be like as a mother if this affects me so much? A very wise client made a comment this week regarding children and it has stuck with me: ‘our children are not ours’. After chatting to a friend about this, she told me about the following poem by Kahlil Gibran ‘On Children’.
It sounds much easier said than done, but something for all of us to constantly keep in mind.
We do not, after all, own anyone and are all here sharing each other’s journeys.
Bianka Wasserman – written late 2018 / early 2019
On Children
Kahlil Gibran
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
