My Mother's Dance

I didn’t want my mother to be my buddy, I was thinking back in times of resentment and anger, as a teenager. I wanted her as my mother, as the umbrella that protected my growth, as the one who would kiss my wounds when I barely could stand on my own and I fought her and the world when she didn’t meet my expectations. What is a mother anyway? How do I define her? mama, The IE root for MA, MAMA, MAMMALIA and MOM is ma-mother. The American Heritage Dictionary declares, when presenting the Indo-European root, that MA is 'an imitative root derived from the child's cry for the breast (a linguistic near-universal...) From breast in latin, a breast is the organ of containment, a container of nourishment, close to the heart, both breasts side by side of a heart who vibrate into this liquid of nourishment.
The baby is born, it is screaming into life to announce its arrival and seeks the comfort of the mother’s heat, to be nourished, to be fed, to be had with the essence of mother’s milk.

When do you leave the nest? The nest of this nourishment, when do you begin to fend for yourself, is there a time limit when mother is no longer someone who you reach for. Share with, tell each other stories. Not to long ago I layed my head on my mother’s lap, I am 47 now, I was laying on the floor near her and I felt like a child. She gently touched my cheek with her hand, brushed my hair away and told me that everything would be ok. It’s a moment in time I never forget, those moments that remain within you for a lifetime, always there to remind you of the gentleness, of the bond that two human beings can share.

So where did we separate? When did we become separated? When did I start searching for something that was already within me and relentlessly torn from every fiber that came between us.
It seems it all started when I was born. I was not suppose to happen and nothing was in our favor in those days. She was 15, ready to experience life in a different way than pregnancy.

What happens if the baby is barely held, barely if not at all breast fed, do we spend a lifetime seeking that heat, that closeness, that mother’s breast of warm, sweet milk that fills the baby’s entrance into life.

What if that hole is filled and the heat is generated within oneself. The heat in a dance, as the body move and warms into the rhythm of sound waves that invites the joy, the passion of existence. The stillness then settles in and becomes part of this reality and I can accept her loving hands as they embrace what I am today. Each time my mother comes close, I accept. Each time she touches my face I accept the love she has always wanted to share and didn’t know how before.

My mother moves with determination as the years go by and perhaps now I don’t need to explain everything that I am ready to fight with her about. Now is a time to gather in a family that has not known about gathering, it had been innate in the past but other energies intruded and distorted what was right and was wrong. We accepted all that came our way.

Now love is leading the way and we are opening doors to the freedom of our hearts. It takes a village to move our consciousness, even those strangers on the other side, even those strangers who speak a foreign language, it is no longer relevant because we are speaking from the language of the heart.