“My mother never breast-fed me. She told me she liked me as a friend.” Rodney Dangerfield

I had finished teaching a yoga class at a studio in a somewhat remote area on the East Coast. One student named Anasoli sat with me afterwards chatting about exotic chocolate, medicinal marijuana, the Grateful Dead, and various topics commonly discussed among hippies.

As we wound down the conversation, Anasoli said, “Well my husband and child just pulled up outside.”

But she wasn’t going anywhere.

Her little boy ran into the studio screaming, “Mamma, mamma! I’m thirsty.”

Anasoli said to me, “Larbird needs to drink before we hit the road.”

The boy lifted up her shirt and began to suck on his mommy’s teet. Ordinarily, I would think nothing of it. But this boy wore a Boston Celtics jersey with “Garnett” on the back, and had oddly defined calf muscles. Point being, he was quite old to be breastfeeding.

I stood there motionless, speechless, unsure what to do.

“Larbird, that’s his name?” I mumbled.

“Yeah, after Larry Bird. We’re huge Celtics fans,” she replied.

“And ah, how old is Larbird?” I inquired.

“Oh he’s 8 years old,” she said patting him on the butt. “You almost done honey?”

I sought further clarity, “So he just really likes the taste? Is that what it is?”

“Well the taste and we have a very special connection,” she added. “Y’know, I never want him to grow up.”

I felt like I was playing with fire. Clearly this lady was a little off center so I wasn’t sure if one question too many would send her reeling.

“And when will you, ah, consider him, ah, grown up enough to drink from a bottle? Or should I say keg? I mean can.”

She quickly chimed in, “Well we’ve been told it’s making people uncomfortable especially at Red Sox games. Which I don’t understand cause soft drinks are so expensive at the ballpark. Why should my son not be allowed to drink for free? But anyway, I figure we better keep it private. When he starts puberty it might really freak people out.”

Just then Larbird finished, removed his head from under his mommy’s shirt, turned to me, burped loudly in the way only an 8 year can burp loudly, rubbed the excess milk form his lips and cheek, put his hand up for a high five (to which I obliged), and walked off to daddy waiting in the car.

It was a strange moment. I looked at the Shiva statue to my right.  I noticed a copy of the Bhagavad Gita on the table to my left. I smelled the faint scent of Nag Champa incense. As I looked at my hand which Larbird had just high-fived, I saw a bit of milk dripping down my arm.

In this remote corner of the northeastern United States, I’d reached a fork in the road. Either I was a conservative, watered down, yuppie yogi freaked out by some good ol’ fashioned mothering. Or Anasoli had held a headstand just a tad too long.

****

I recently found out that a family whom I’ve known for most of my life was one of many victims in the Madoff ponzi scheme. The father of this family was super wealthy, “wise,” and even-keeled, an icon in my community. Now he’s bankrupt with barely a dime to his name.

Who and what can be trusted nowadays? It seems all the systems and infrastructure in our society are falling apart. Without that underlying comfort and support, we are left searching for what the yogis call The Mother’s Energy.  If you can’t get comfort from the bank and you can’t get it from the money maven and you can’t get it from community leaders, there’s only one place to go.

The proverbial “teets“…otherwise known as those ancient and sacred sources of warmth and nourishment…whether they be prayer, a trip to church or temple, or a sacred text. Over the past several years, these are things for which most of us have had less and less time. And in our furious drive toward progress and possessions, we’ve lost our way.

I’d like to suggest 2009 as the year where it will be right and true to say “to hell with progress.” I’d like to suggest 2009 as the year where putting a knee in the dirt and a hand to the heart will trump any action, invention, or transaction.

Because while an 8 year old breastfeeding in public is a bit awkward, we are never too old, and never too advanced, and never too mature to seek, sulk, even cry for the Mother’s Energy.