Thursday, August 1, 2013

A Mother's Meditation

A Mother's Meditation

Arms stretch out
Then upward to the sky.
Hands meet palm to palm,
Bringing hope down to the heart.
Fingertips join to life-force.

Suddenly, I am a nest.
Small One settles in
And leans his downy head
Against the steady pulse in my breast.
I am his rest.

I am a shelter
Where safety is sought;
Where quiet is revered.
Security is found
Between my branching arms.

I am a well
To draw life from.
Still, I must reach down
To replenish from the Source,
That my sustenance not run dry.

I am a cradle
To soothe the weary children.
To the ever-moving,
I must remain unmovable
That they need not feel fear.

Positioned for rest,
For gathering strength;
I am never quite alone.
The young scatter and return,
But their presence remains.

I do not feel all
Nor can I see all.
My roots do not cover the infinite.
Even so, I keep my ground
And set my face toward the heavens.

Written 7/22/2013 during my "week of silence" with Story 101.


  1. Oh, yes, their presence remains. I think the hardest thing about mothering, especially small children, is how you make space for them and then they don't really fill it. The space stays open for them. I love this, my friend.

  2. Thank you, Esther. It's the part about mothering I didn't expect, can't really explain, and don't really understand myself. But I embrace its beauty in the bittersweet.


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