Pristine

In her tiny newborn body,

in the mechanics of her unwilled breath

in her tender reactive spasms

in her immediate responses to minute details

in her frequent frustrations and discomforts

in her unfiltered coos and cries

in her unpolluted nature

I see the gift and plight of humanity.

Absolute sensitivity.

Continuous stream of senses and consciousness,

All of it queueing to be seen, to be felt

To be digested and assimilated,

Incessant, relentless,

very often overwhelming,

and thus much of it ignored.

And initially uncolored.

Merely swaths of data looking for some organization.

Then the new vehicle, this body of old design,

identifies what it knows, and evokes pleasure and pain.

Pleasure towards what helps it grow,

and pain towards what hurts it.

The conscious self then, instigated by these inner forces,

shapes its own mold from the body's opinion.

Thence comes the polarization of experience,

the separation onto the good and the bad.

And if this duality the mind is allowed to believe,

it yields its authority to the happy and the sad.

And in this fall onto desire

due to a lack of mental fire,

lies the crux to the wealth of lamentations

that have lived alongside humans for many generations.

For then one assumes that one's consciousness becomes aware

to serve and fear and slave away to our body's core alarms,

when in fact it is but our vehicle, and though it needs good fuel and care,

Its outer details are minor, like its pleasures, pains, and harms.

And in this newborn's nature, and what I feel her rile in me,

A fractal-like reflection of the human self I see.

When she feels any kind of pain, annoyance, or commotion,

the unfiltered feeling expresses through her coos and cries and motions.

And somehow I, the father, feel pulled to appease her dislike,

much like her hunger was my hunger and her discomfort my own plight.

And if I neglect to first think of why she might be feeling this way,

Inner chains pull at my instincts and coerce me to help her right away.

But if I pause and consciously choose to first think,

I train my mind and will to override that primal link.

To firmly hold the reins while handling her with care,

just like one can feel one's urges, yet walk through life aware.

My newborn manifests in flesh my own inner child,

her body an innocent automaton, unfiltered, raw, and wild.

Her pains and desires I feel just like mine,

and they pull me to attend to her every little sign.

Yet her wellbeing does not always lie in the utter negation

of her every itch, ache, pain, and little frustration.

Her mission in life now is to simply explore,

and my role is to help her without overriding her will,

or to take away from her changes for exposure

to the effects of her actions, to deprive her of closure

for her own choices, for her highest concern

in this life she came into is to gradually learn.

So her body, emotions, and desires, just like mine,

are in perpetual flux, unpredictable in time.

And though it is prudent to heed their signs,

what should best hold the reins are our will, soul, and mind.