Tears streamed down my face when I read this for the first time. How blessed we are to have author Blythe Rowan share this with us and you. Thank you Blythe. Anna & Alisa
From the moment a child is conceived it changes you. It changes you. Who you once called “you” you now call “mother.” Primitive, fluid, ever flowing, mother. Mother who calls to you and says pick up your shoes. Mother who says go to bed now little one for you are too tired. Mother who says get on now and give mama a break. Mother. She. You. You scold. You play. You love. You nurture. You carry. You bleed. You milk. You cry. You cry. You cry. What tears fall in this weeping? Tears of life. All life filling and spilling and purging and RE-emerging. Life that swells and blisters all at the same time it whispers… quietly. Softly. Love.
Love is that spring of life that fills the womb and penetrates the rest of the world in a blissful feeling of goddess within. Goddess that will not surrender to anything. Goddess that will bear the birth of LIFE. Of LIFE. Life itself is what calls and beckons and reckons and sings from the tops of the mountains all the way to the very depths of the sea. Mother. It is you. It is you. YOU are the mother. The keeper, the guard, the maker the wayfarer who sometimes gets lost. Lost in her creation. Child. Lost. In. The. Child. Is that her child? NO, it’s my child. I AM the MOTHER. I am THE MOTHER. Is it me? Yes. Carry me mother. Carry me to the doorstep of knowledge and truth. Carry me to that doorstep that will anoint ME the mother. Where the knowledge will flow. Where I will learn to play. Where I will learn to read everything there is to read so long as it makes me a mother. So help me god, make me a MOTHER.
Bring forth the child. Bring him to me. Lay him upon me. He is mine. I see him like I’ve never seen anyone. Ever. He is mine. I made him. I birthed him. I brought him into this world with every strength and pulse within me. My breath was taken away and given back again only to be taken away forever…when I laid eyes upon YOU. Seeing you was indeed seeing the face of god. The god within me that speaks so loudly I can’t turn it down and don’t want to. The god within that forces smiles through exhaustion and strength through fear. The god that holds me up and says I. Love. You. I love you. You are that god. God is you and now you see him looking back at you with approval. Showing you, telling you, holding you, needing you… He is showing you his true face. That one looking back at you? Is. Simply. You.
Mother. Maker. Creator. Beauty editor. You are her. You are beautiful. You are strong. You are Passionate and you are resilient. You are mother. Mother cannot break nor can she be broken. Mother cannot take nor can she be taken. Mother just is. She stands firm and tall and resonates from within. There is nothing more. She resonates. Beyond all space and time she is felt. She is held, she is loved and caressed by a community… a community who now call her… mother. She rises. She falls. But she always rises again. You call to her, you call your own, you call to all that is known because all that is known is… Mother.
For without this sacred calling we all cease. Silence. Then there is only silence. But because of you mother, silence leads to laughter. Great big belly laughter because THAT is mother. She is everything there is to be. She is a creation that could never be created because she just is. She serves. She bellows. She beckons. She stands tall…proud…radiant. She IS radiant. In every light. Through growth. Through pain. Through darkness and through her return to light she is growth. Belly growth. Breast growth. Hip growth. Mind growth. Spirit growth. HEART GROWTH. She’s so big that no one recognizes her. She’s dead. Whatever woman bore her is dead. The little girl in pigtails? Only a memory. The rebellious teen who shook with passion and fury to find her way? The college student searching with her mind for a purpose as if she would find it there. Her MIND? It’s gone…But her heart. Her heart… IS open. Her little girl sitting before her waiting to be nurtured and loved and doted on. Her teenager no longer needing the fury to get things done because all there is is all she needs. Love.
So, mother, I say to you… who are you? Who sits there rocking and praying and bouncing and swaying. Who sits there? YOU. Mother.