Skip to main content

Journey to My Mother

We sit in silence, our noses nuzzled together, our foreheads touching, no matter that you are many miles away. Our vision extends high above us until there is no space in between. It circles above us, birds in flight, touching the void, and allowing us to feel the breadth of it, only as much as is comfortable to nudge us gently open.

And here it is that the story has ended, and a new one has begun. Here it is that we access eternity, with no limits, no boundaries, and the surprise of wholeness that opens up a reserve of love large enough for all existence that ever was or will ever be.

And those moments, the ones passed, become just the right pressure to have created diamonds.

I speak of our love, because it is the one thing that bubbles up in my soul with pure joy. There we were, two traveling, mother and daughter. We were no different than most. We had our fights.

"That's how the cookie crumbles..." you would say, and I'd feel misunderstood and angry. I would chastise you for your sense of mothering, that left me picking up my own pieces.

I made you a symbol of my struggle.

It was in your arms first that I tried to find refuge. And it was your folded arms that first told me to get up, get over it, and get on with it. But you loved me. I knew it, I just couldn't reconcile it with my beliefs about the world. I wanted to be rescued and carried. You wanted me to soar.

As time passed, you listened, simply listened. You allowed, and I am sure, in your own way, you prayed for me.

I remember my dream as vivid as if it had been real. The one where I found myself driving down your street, when I became aware within that dream, that I was driving down your street. I got to your house and I walked inside, and found you sleeping on the couch. It was dark, and there were all kinds of boxes stacked up behind you, like you were moving. I went to you and stirred you from your sleep. I knew that I didn't have much time, because the experience of being conscious in my dream made my visit with you a tentative one.

You looked at me, sleepily.

"I love you, mom." I said.

"I love you too." You replied.

It was such a vivid dream, and in retrospect, I wonder if that wasn't the moment when I realized how significant you had been, and would be in my journey. In retrospect I wonder if that night, it wasn't my soul, driving me, coming to pick you up--for our stories have been much the same since, and our awakening too; or perhaps it is just further proof that we are all one, and that there is really only one story.

It was at the moment, the one at the conference, when you placed your hand tenderly on my back, feeling my sobs--the ones that I felt might suffocate me, that you became home to me. We were listening to Gregg Braden speak. We were taking in his wonderful words as he told us a story. The one about the two premature twins, one of which was dying in his little incubator. The story where the nurse, not knowing what else to do, but feeling the grave responsibility to save this tiny baby, put it next to its twin, in his incubator, so that they lay side by side; how the healthy one reached out its hand and placed it on its dying brother. And there was healing.

At that moment, your hand was on my back, and there was healing.

We went home that day, to each other, to no more separation, and to a love that transcends anything that we could have ever dreamed of, much like the love we experienced at the birth of our children, but bigger, because there was a return to innocence.

This love, a return to the simplicity of the beginning, extends with no bounds, is ultimate, unconditional, and the only path back to loving ourselves. And we were so wanting to love ourselves. It was time.

In journeying to you, my dear mother, you have journeyed to me. And we have become one, and we have opened up something so powerful as to see our brothers as ourselves. And it is a love that only gets deeper. You are me and I am you, and I see it and it is easy. And as we journey together from here forward, there is no more fear, only the realization of perfection in all of its unexpected splendour. The realization that a love like this is All of it, and transcends distance, time and space. It is a love eternal.

And I thank you for becoming a symbol of my freedom.

I love you.

Comments

  1. OK, this is why I shouldn't read things in work that are non-work related: because they make me cry. This was beautiful. Miss you lots and lots, but I know one of these days we will get to see each other again.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I have goosebumps and tears. I love you and your sweet mother and am overjoyed that the two of you have come together in such a beautifully perfect way.

    Hugs to both of you sweet ones.

    ReplyDelete
  3. oh my. i just read this again and am blown away by the power here. You have such a gift with words, clearly you have a direct line to source when you're writing.

    I can't imagine the joy this must have brought your sweet mom--what a gift you have given to her and all of us lucky enough to be reading your words.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

♥ Thank you for taking the time connect with me here. ♥

Popular posts from this blog

Mountain

Okay, I am just here writing, because I can't quite tell you how important it is that I have full permission to write, right here today, with this energy that I am holding. To stand strong in the truth of my being, that has felt quite weak and wavering in moments, and equally strong and clear in moments, as if these parts are truly at war with one another, and I am watching to see which one will win out, but the funny division between the two is merely this, the more I let the two up for air, wrestling and churning up and me trying to find which team is going to win, which one is going to end up on top, there is just simply me, sitting on the sidelines, and really tired of watching the back and the forth, and so, I just sit and put my hand in the sand I am sitting on the beach, and feel the texture of the sand, feel it running through my hand, and there is just this amazingness of this sand moving through my hand, and it feels timeless and I begin to see shapes and outlines in the…

RIP Poltergeist

After over ten years of an incredibly intense journey as a seeker, I find myself lying fallow. Taking a rest. When I first discovered this uncomfortable fact — threat to the hamster wheel that was my spiritual rat race, I surrendered for dead, but something wouldn’t let that fact sit as truth. I was lying fallow, but this implied that after a good rest, fruit could follow. This had nothing to do with death.

I am humbled at the courage it takes to write. For many years I kept a blog read by only a handful of very supportive people, and you’d think that after sharing writing for so long with perfect strangers, writing would have gotten easier. Actually, it got harder. In fact, at one point I was so paralyzed, I just stopped writing altogether. It was just too vulnerable. There was no trust there anymore, and I attributed any courage I had had to my youthful ignorance.

However, life continues, as it inevitably does, and there is still this pang to write, and it grows stronger and strong…

Big Red Bow & Boat

The next installment in a boat series, I guess. I just loved drawing this one. It just sort of appeared one day, and I loved the hues. Thanks Sharpie, for mixing up some alluring colors for me.

It didn't start out as night, but thanks to a sharpie mishap... but I am coming to ADORE those mishaps, because my favorite part of this little drawing is that it is night!

I also love drawing these women from behind with big bows. I love the mystery of whether the boat is coming in or going out. Perhaps it is all those Victoria Holt novels I read as a girl. Thanks mom!

It is fun to just enjoy looking at art I've created, not because they are good, but because they evoke something for me in my experience--something that just feels simply a little bit more alive--tiny sparks of wonder that make me feel curious about this human existence, and our desire to create--something wordless. Sometimes I think it is the closest way that I get to brush up to my personal experience as a human. Beca…