One of my boys has grown up. I could not be more proud. A wild boy. I don?t even know what to say about it. I sat next to him, held his hand as he explained why he had to decline the tempting offer of a romp in the hay. My palm pressed against his as proud tears hugged the corners of my eyes while I listened to him speak of how in love he is with his daughter and everything he has to learn about loving himself and loving others and treating himself with respect and treating women with respect so that he can teach these things to his little girl?

I just don?t know how to talk about it. He?s grown up. Not grown up like come of age, but grown up like the next level on the journey towards enlightenment. The last time I spent with him, I was aware of his present potential. The He who could be. I write about it in my journal last April:

I love this man and I miss his presence. Because I enjoyed his company but also, I miss his present potential more than the actualization of him?I miss being around what he could be. At any moment he might erupt into the man I wanted to see?the core self he held within him. I loved living with the volcano knowing that at any moment he might erupt into a flood of hot true lava. It was the lava I loved. It was the lava I loved living with even though there was a mountain of safety placed between me and that hot bed of molten human, thick and dangerous. I knew it was there, the whole time. And enjoyed the smoking volcano, my nearest manifestation of his insides.

Tonight, he tapped into it. The hot bed of molten human--him. Himself. I didn?t know if I?d ever be around to see it, but I always believed it was there. I held onto that belief the way some people believe in God. If my faith in this man compares, thus, to a faith in God, then I just witnessed the miracle which justifies a lifetime of believing in something?someone?you can?t see, hear, taste, touch, or prove?the presence of whom you just sense in a room?someone you know by feeling. I believe in you. I wrote him a letter, which I didn?t realize until later was a poem?

i believe in you
the way children believe in fairies
in santa claus, in fathers
simply and without question
i believe in you
as mother teresa believed in heaven
as ghandi believed in peace
as buddha believed in an end to suffering
for all people
they died smiling
having kissed the lips
of their enlightenment
i believe in you
as the people of atlantis
believed in the sea
as the citizens of pompeii
believed in eruptions
as san franciscans believe
in the big one
you are coming
inexorably
you will touch everyone
and everyone you touch
will be changed
i have tasted the mystery
of your breath
when you sleep
and i know of secrets
you keep, riddled
beneath tattoos and trust
and touch?
i believe you have the power
to light the ocean on fire
for my heart, full of brine
sometimes, still sparks
when you reach for me.
leave what does not believe
in you
keep your heart free
your nose clean
and when you stumble
or dream,
reach for me
and for those who can close
their eyes and still believe
in things like dreams
and stories
and you

I sent it to him in a moment of absolute faith?a moment of wanting so badly to support the actualization of his potential. Not his potential as an artist or as a performer. Not his potential in terms of intelligence or brilliance or success. But his potential as his optimal state of being. His optimal sense of self. The man buried beneath years of drug use and numb fucking. The man who values himself as much as he values his daughter. The man who understands that he can only give her what he?s got. And not having money, having only poems and heart, he must align the heart to live up to the poems so that when strangers approach him and thank him for the good work he?s doing in the world?the life-changing work he?s doing in the world, he can see it, understand it, and feel good about himself, instead of feeling like he?s a hypocrite. The man who has to learn to love himself and respect himself so he can learn to love and respect the women in his life and who would be in his life, so he can teach his daughter how to love. He can?t teach her something he doesn?t know himself. He?s got to begin this learning process pronto. I want to thank that little girl, to press her to my chest and bless her for catalyzing such magnificent epiphany. For channeling this man?who I adore?into the core of himself, the hot bed of molten human that I always believed in but never thought I?d see.

I am so proud of him. It?s the most remarkable thing?this sense of mother-love saturating my entire body/spirit with warmth. My manchild has grown in extraordinary ways since last we spoke. I could not be more proud.