Spirituality and Mothering
Copyright (c) 2010 Suzanne Wells
I am endlessly surprised at the grace and truth motherhood
offers. It's 9PM, two in bed, one to go. I lied next to my
six year old son and curled into him, tears spilling from
my eyes. I told him not to be afraid.
"Of what?" he seemed genuinely surprised, but unusually
quiet.
"A mother who cries a lot."." I murmured as I stifled
little catches in my throat. Like an old outboard with a
broken choke, sputtering across a lake embarrassed to be
seen amongst the more worthy craft.
We lay still for a few minutes,witnessing each other
through the silence. His meek body seemed so vulnerable. I
tried to do motherly things. Kiss his head. Fluff his
pillow. Pull the covers up over his shoulders.
He was still - reaching for me; the mom he used to know.
The one who read books every night, invented special signs
only we knew, knew his favorite movies and sang special
songs. The one who could make him laugh.
I laid my hand on his waist. I knew mothers should do this;
offer comfort somehow. My hand settled into the shape of
his hip. The bone was distinct and delicate; beautifully
curved and filled with space. Living, breathing space it
seemed to me. Space filled with a living breathing life
force, which I was somehow partially responsible for
bringing into this world. He sighed slightly at my touch.
I could sense the crest of his inhale and the depth of his
exhale as his ribcage rode his breath. Simultaneously, I
felt myself rising in exaltation of having the esteemed
honor and complete privilege of being chosen to be the sole
female on the planet to have birthed him and then assigned
watch over this magnificent collection of breath, bones and
undeniable life. At exactly the same time, plunging
straight into the depths of my heart and landing in despair
so great, I recognized instantly and with certainty that I
could never, ever, have enough grace in my gaze to reflect
back the rays of illumination that shined so brilliantly
out of his little soul.
I pushed the tears down my face with the palm of my hand as
I padded across the bedroom rug, wondering if warriors ever
grew wings or if angels learned to fight.
About the Author:
Suzanne Wells has practiced yoga since 1991. She has been
teaching in the movement arts for 25 years and holds
several certifications. She also is an Ayurvedic
Practitioner and Ayurveda Yoga Specialist. She is an
author, poet and music aficionado.
http://www.roundearthsquarepeople.blogspot.com/