adversity · culture · grief · perspective · poetry · women's issues · writing

Equality

Two mothers were we
frozen in disbelief
as smoke rose

Cried for the losses
for our children
for a future devoid
of peace

Two mothers
hand-in-hand
shattered

A Christian
and a Muslim

War destroys all dreams.

(Image my own.)

blogging · creativity · culture · Family · poetry · women's issues

A Mother Seldom Asks

Where does a woman store her dreams
while children need chauffeuring
and parents’ health is in decline?

What goal does she dare strive for,
that won’t supersede obligation,
nor tax already waning energy?

Why is it that her efforts –
exceeding expectations –
often fail, demanding more?

How does she keep hope alive
when illness usurps functioning
and the off-ramp is miles behind?

Who will carry her when winter’s grasp
makes passage undependable, and
she has no choice but to surrender?

(V.J.’s challenge this week is questions.)

dreams · Family · life · Love · nonfiction · relationships · women's issues

Lifelines

The forest is thick with the smell of new leaves, tinged with the lingering winter musk.  The trees here stretch endlessly upwards, their trunks a testimony to the timelessness of the place.  Rays of warm sunlight reach downwards, creating pockets of warm glow.  The soft moss and dry earth beneath my feet cushion my steps.  Birdsong fills the air, adding to the aura of enchantment.  I come here to meditate.  This is my oasis:  a calm, nurturing retreat where I can find renewal.  I breathe deeply and allow all my senses to revel in the beauty.   A crackling of twigs alerts me to the presence of another.  A horse and rider come into my line of vision and stop.  The young man’s eyes meet mine, and there is a rush of recognition.  He is young, maybe mid twenties, with thick dark hair, and dark eyes.  I feel that I have known him many lifetimes, and that ours has been a relationship of deep and abiding love.  “I am coming back to you,” is all he says, and I feel my heart leap with joy. 

The unexpected vision and accompanying emotional surge forces me back to consciousness.  The meditation had been so deep and relaxing that it find it hard to shake off the drowsiness.  It was so real.  I open my eyes to find my friend, Sam looking at me.  “It’s a boy!”  I blurt out.  “You’re going to have a boy!”

I was right about the boy, but the message was not for my friend who was so desperately hoping for a child.  It was for me, who although I thought I was finished my childbearing, was about to discover myself pregnant again.  My dark haired, brown-eyed boy was born the next fall.

Mothers know that there is an unseen cord of consciousness that runs between them and their children.  It is first experienced when they wake up seconds before their sleeping baby.  Or maybe earlier, in the dream time.