Sometimes I'm kind of a dirty hippie.

My adored Kitty wrote this on her blog and so I was inspired to respond.

This past September I had the opportunity to fly to Washington State and spend a week with family I had not seen in a very very long time. Three of those days were spent in Olympia, WA, visiting my beloved cousin Angie, her husband Matt, their chihuahua Chip, and their 8 week old baby girl, Olivia.

Angie and Matt are probably some of the most seriously laid back, chilled out people I have ever met in my life. It is my ultimate goal to be as calm and easy going as they are. Angie is so laid back that when I arrived in Olympia, she handed me her new baby and did not ask for her back for the next three days unless Olivia needed the boob. I couldn't believe someone had trusted me with their infant. I was in heaven. I called it "New Mommy Fantasy Camp". All the good stuff without any of the waking-up-400-times-a-night stuff.

My first evening there, Angie let me put Olivia to bed. I was forewarned that Olivia would cry, long and hard, for a good while before finally zonking out. But not to worry! That is just her nightly routine. All I would need to do is bounce, coo, rub her back and let her cry. So, after her bedtime feeding and burping, after I changed her pants and once she started her nightly bawl, I started rocking and cooing. I was alone in the nursery with Olivia, and she was crying and crying and crying and crying. Screaming. It sounded like someone had just killed her puppy. Actually, it sounded worse. It was starting to make me nervous. I held her away from my body and looked into her little face, twisted with agony, and I didn't see a baby crying. I saw a person grieving. And it hit me, all of a sudden: Olivia is mourning her past.

I have always believed in reincarnation. Say what you will, but I've known too many little children who relate exquisitely detailed memories of lives lived long ago. Things beyond a toddlers imagination. I believe that when we are very small, we are still connected to our earlier existences and that as we grow and age, our minds become clouded with our current lives and everything else is pushed away. It would have to be because how could we function with the weight of our past lives on our shoulders?

As I looked into that tiny, beautiful, sorrowful face, my heart broke into a million little pieces. I pressed her to my bosom and held her there, sobbing with her, gasping with her, grieving with her. Until, at last, she heaved a sigh far too big for her tiny body and collapsed into a deep, sound sleep.

We endure so much in our lives. Even those of us who seem to have everything, who seem to be the golden children, we endure so much. Even in the easiest life there is heartbreak, humiliation, loss, distress. And the wonderful blessings that we have are worth our tears. The love that we've experienced, the joy we've known, all that is worth grieving once it's gone. And then, to start over from the beginning, not knowing what is ahead, not knowing what will happen next, even that is something to endure. And how wonderful it all is. Whether we are wallowing in shit and misery or dancing in a starry spotlight, at least we are alive.