Poetry, motherhood and beyond.
"Hurry up, there isn't much time left." I have lived half my life. My thirtieth decade is slowly drawing to a close and if I am very lucky, I have about the same time left as that which I have already lived. So, dear Youth, what have I done with Act 1?
I dream my stories. They are not mine. Stories make up the reward for me paying attention. I know that deep down, beyond the layers, no story is mine to keep. They are mine to share, so that they might be yours.
My gaze travelled downward, making out the letters ‘was here’. Someone had carved his or her name underneath my thumb but wear and tear had slowly erased it. I stared at it for a while before finding my keys and picking out the one with the sharpest edge. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was carve.
Thank you, universe, for feeding me, nourishing me, loving me and showing me the grace of yet another day. Remembering my gratitude, I shall spread nothing but kindness and bow to my determination to let my corner of the universe flourish. I start and end the day with kindness, courage, compassion.
When all else fails, and I quiver, you remain in my psyche. For all that I fear, you have conquered, and through it all, soul sister, you walked with grace.
In the warm glow of her child's affection, every mother's face radiates the kind of beauty actually worth sharing with the world.
I am not these hands, these wiry fingers, these brittle, yellowing nails. I am not this bird-like body, this hollowness, this fierce resistance to movement.
But if it is such, that life is one, we would be safe in inherently knowing the secret behind being alive.
Bring back the yin/yang balance to our offices, governments and board rooms. To build a better humanity, we need to embrace our innate need to offer care and love. We need to feel our way forward, and bring our whole selves to work, not leave the mother at home.
Is this me, it asks. Stumbling forward, searching for something long forgotten, breaking the silence that reigned here.
On Mama's Mind 