It’7 Octaviu7 7even7
The baby’s here. I thought I’d feel jealous. I mean, he got to have what I’ll never have: an actual birth parent. Baby brother got his umbilical the honest way. He was born with it.
We are already talking. True, he mostly communicates feelings, but what feelings they are! There must be nothing more pure, more strong, than a baby’s love.
“Why do you love your big brother?” I asked him.
He cooed and giggled. Then he sent me wave after wave of memories he had while he was inside of Pops of me talking, singing, touching Pops’ belly. Ah, no wonder! We are already bonded.
I can’t be jealous of a little guy who loves me!
“You’re gonna do great things!” I told him. “Even if all you do is sit in a chair and think, you’re gonna be great! You are great already.”
I love the color of his skin. It stirs memories in me–I don’t know what memories they are, or where they come from. Some feel like soul memories, from long ago lifetimes when I was blue like that, living in those wide purple meadows, singing with my gojotugo in a circle under seven moons!
Some feel like cellular memories, stirring in the spaces between the nucleus and the cytoplasm. Pabatuotuo awoke this body to the memories of its cells, and now, with this brother, these cells’ songs find lullabies from ages’ past.
It’s like everything I know: How do I know it? It’s lying latent in me, ready to awaken when stirred by stimulus.
The ancient song of wind and leaf:
E paya-shishi O.
E paya-shishi O.
I have a brother to sing the old songs with, and he is a blue I know in my soul, and he comprehends the old hoploho in his bones, in his cells, and he will sing with me in the spaces we share inside!
E inna-inna Octy. Mopagoto.