Skip to main content

Mother of the World

In my dream I am screaming for my mother. It is an angry, powerful screaming. A furious demanding that she show herself, but not a desperate one.

I am not weak. I am awake.

I am not screaming for my earthly mother. I am screaming for a different kind of mother--and I am ready to open the door and let her in.

I've begun to recognize this mother as the one we've all been crying out for.

Our own mothers could not appease this cry.

I've begun to recognize this mother leading us to her.

We can't find her alone.

I've begun to recognize that it is we who have kept her shut out. It is we who've forgotten that she exists.

Little by little we are remembering--together.

And the perfection of this.

How seeing her would be through learning to see.

A reunion.

The perfect happily ever after, after the happily ever after.

And when I finally found the door, I opened it, and invited her in. I was no longer afraid I'd burn up in her presence. I was strong enough to greet her without the need to fall to my knees in worship. It was a strong embrace we met in, both upright and sovereign.

We've been getting very much acquainted.

She is an amusing companion.

I hear her narrating my life in 3rd person. I revel in her description as she helps me take notice of my most wonderful adventure. She makes even my cat peeing in my shoe, and me subsequently stepping into it, a hilarious encounter.

She helps me to see my younger daughter, who has a knack for climbing shelves and cupboards to get down all of those things I've placed out of her reach, as the ambitious and charming girl I would root for in a children's book.

She perks me up to feel the morning breeze, and to wonder if it is speaking to me as it rustles through the leaves.

And she makes sure that I pay head when he has heeded my call, to come back to me. I see his hands at the post office. His face in a young entrepreneur. The softness of his voice echoing like an old song in my mind. His encouraging presence in the man helping me navigate the self-check out at the grocery store. In the movie, when he writes the young widow letters from his grave, and tells him that he worries not that she will forget him, but that she will forget herself.

The narration continues, and tells a tale of a woman rocking it doing push ups, and then eating ice cream in the next moment, and she recounts the delectable naughtiness of this. I laugh at her prose, when she describes how the push ups and the ice cream both have the same very new punch of pleasure, because someone took the right stone out of the tall tower she'd been locked away in all her life, and brought it tumbling down, setting her free.

Her narrative describes how the character feels like it must be impossible for her to contain her joy at a world burst full of sensation and color. And I love her description of this:  how the character imagines herself at the highest mountain top, flinging her arms wide open, and screaming, "This is living!!!!!"

I love that this holy Mother lives within me, is me, and that softly, I am tipping more and more in favor of expressing, loving, creating, healing, appreciating, smiling, playing and savoring, through this aspect of me. And when I am not--when I am spinning in my messy humanness, she is the soft place to wait it out.

Her loving eyes, wait ever so patiently for mine to meet hers. But if I am too lost to meet her gaze, I know that I am more and more aware of a part of me that knows, that no matter what, I am in her soft landing place, and that she has never left.

She is caressing my hair, until I wake up from a bad dream, where I am calling her name.


Comments

  1. Whew. So damn beautiful I can't speak.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Julia already said it. So beautiful. Brilliant, too. The mother as a wry, compassionate narrative witness who helps you get the joke. What a wonderful way to start my 59th birthday! Thank you!

    ReplyDelete
  3. I agree, your writing and sharing is beautiful and moving, and the whole world could benefit by letting in the nurturing described here.

    Keep rockin' the punches of pleasure, Brooke :)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

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

Popular posts from this blog

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…

Adventure

Another painting I loved making. I had so much fun just layering paint and swirling about.

Adventure has been a big part of my world as of late. In fact, writing this after a long day of skiiing. Where I used to shy away from leaving the house, I've been doing the opposite. Finally really getting to know my beautiful state and bask in its beauty-- hiking to the top of many peaks--sometimes limping the last stretches back to the car. Took my girls camping on the beach without a 'man'  and was so proud when I got the campfire started multiple times. The girls had their doubts I could do it. It was nice to prove them wrong! My most favorite was the day I drove 5 hours to the closest passport office on a wing and a prayer to get a same-day passport (wing and a prayer because they tell you you can drive all that way, but that there is no guarantee they can/will help you) so I could accept an invitation to see the woman's soccer world cup, and within a week was in Vancouver…

All for one and one for all...

“All for one and one for all.” 
― Alexandre DumasThe Three Musketeers
I thought I would bid farewell to these 29 days with me and my girls taking in the sunset atop one of my favorite views.

This was drawn at a time when our little threesome became my sense of home and identity, and having these little ones, now big, by my side has given my life meaning and purpose, and has changed me in every way that is good.

This is how I want to go out, in the end, like watching the sunset with my girls--feeling the warm glow casting itself around the valley, lighting up eyelashes and strands of angel hair, until the light recedes and is no more.

Thank you to those who joined me on this journey. The gifts have been all mine-- to share my creations and to be met with such tender love and kindness. I honor you all as fellow creators and humans on the journey. It is a joy to call you friends.

I can't wait to be on the receiving end of your creations, and to keep a life-long sharing of our hearts…