TRUST IN LIFE'S COMPASSION

I was having a very strenuous time in my marriage and feeling directionless about life, when my daughter - barely 3 at the time, spoke words I can only surmise were channeled by angels. We were in the bathtub, (as we often were on freezing days in Eastern Canada) and in the middle of happily playing by herself - pretending to make beer mind you - she turns to me and says...

  

 

 "MOM, YOU DON'T TRUST. 

WELL... YOU DO TRUST, 

BUT YOU DON'T HAVE CONFIDENCE IN LIFE'S COMPASSION."

~ Raksha Boiteau

You wouldn't believe how fast I jumped out of the bathtub to write that down! Never had I heard my child use the words confidence or compassion, let alone in context or the same sentence. She of course went right back to making her beer as if the words were never uttered.

CONFIDENCE IN LIFE'S COMPASSION

Was my lesson that evening - and always. These words never fail to help me re-root my perspective in the bigger picture. Thank you daughter.

PS... Actual bathtub's design has been changed to reflect the poet's imagination.

Capacity to Give - (a mother's day tribute)

Oceans slosh

Inside her cavern

Bump against her breast

Lumps of flesh round and soft inhabit her

Naturally she might feel inclined to do something with all this excess

She might want to grow something with it

Feed someone by it

Give it away more

The space in her body

Babies can be made

Loved. Protected. Blessed. 

but...

Making children, 
(a customary antidote for the giving urge), 

does not always quench the urge-to-give. 

She's left wondering, WHAT MORE can she do?  
To fill tremendous space.

What talent hides between lumps of flesh? 

What gifts drift in her sloshy cavern - echoing Universe deep within?

Who is she, if not mother?

a mother?

Who is she, if not wife? 

a mother still? 

Who is she, if not traditional in her use of capacities? 

...still, mother.   and

every ocean, every craggy ravine, every salted plain, every lush valley, every expanded sky, every fallen icicle, every hungry belly and every every every kind. every full. 

This she. This her. This we.  

Best Mates

Photo by Atmadev Cornelius

Dying is required.

When living is present.

A little every day,

a lot once in a while,

more often than not.

We die the moment we are born.

Pushing away from what we were,
into who we are meant to be.

And we live the moment we die.

*

Kind of sets a precedence

for the entire journey.

*

So let yourself die, akka b.

become fertilizer

become the way of the returning tree.

So

you can live more,

once again,

entirely.

*

Live Death/Present Life

10.

10

years.
since - she cracked open the window
of
in-between worlds
pushed her way through
invited herself in

10

years.
before - I panted and prayed
I called, she summoned
she
churned
I
surrendered

10

Years.
ago - we died
a
little
said goodbye
a lot

to what comes before, being born
to what comes before, being a mother

10

Years.
far - from this very day.
We passed each other in twilight halls
as we
both
left
behind
so
we both

could
come
to
be

a
little more

10

H A P P Y * B I R T H D A Y

rethinking Birthdays

click pic to grow ~

Walk backwards.

go on.

go back.

and plant your path with candles

for years

days

every breath that returns you.

to the color of your mother's laughter when the moon blessed her belly

let the light of your birth

illumine

the

steps of your life.

going back.

On being a MAMMA.

There would’ve been no teeny tiny socks to find in random pockets or spoons to find in shirt drawers. No bathtub wisdom or bedtime tears. No rainbow scarves to untie from chair legs, nor purple crayon to scrub off kitchen walls. No one to slow me down on long hikes or grocery store explanations of Santa Claus.

Mother's day gifts this year: Giant Cabbage, Pink Bracelet, Bag of black rice (not shown) and lots of HUGS.

Without the tremendous fortune of Motherhood I would be totally inexperienced at nursing a hungry toddler on the carpeted floor of a department store, or catching projectile poop mid-stream. I wouldn’t know how to let things get really messy - or how to clean messy up in under 30 seconds when the door bell rings. (Or not).

If it weren’t for my dearest little child-of-my-heart, flower-of-my-bosom, strength-of-my-character, almost ten-year-old daughter…I would have way more brown hair still, and a lot less laughter. I would know how to count my misgivings better than my forgivings’ and I wouldn’t know how to make apple muffins with three tablespoons extra salt and half an eggshell.

Motherhood has taught me how to say NO when I really want to say YES and say YES when I really want to say NO. I have learned that dirty shirts don’t really matter, but HUGS make the world come alive…

“MOM” – is spelled forward and backward.
KIDDING is the longer version of “KID”.
“LOVE” is everlasting.

If I had never been a mamma…
I would have had way more sleep than one woman could ever need.

S P I R A L ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 spiral

D A N C E

let it blur

arms up

fingers reaching

lips parted

blood beating

for sky.

eyes soft

toward beings who watch

I wrap my arms around

all my beautiful

embrace

years

days

sweet minutes

tiny stones lodged between my toes

and all the children living in my belly

tears i spill

TEARS

I leave

tears

to impregnate the world with

breed my love

with places i pass

and place i stay

D A N C E

spiral ~ eyes inside ~ lifted