child.

What is the true obligation of a mother and father?

Have we expected too much of them? Have we expected too little of ourselves too soon.

Have we stolen our right to be naturally living things of the universe. Growing without a misconception that we must do something to do so.

Allowing the natural momentum of divine intention take hold of our electric bodies and abundant spirit.

Lifting us to heights we could never dream up.

But our mind so restless, our fathers eager to lead, we plunge ourselves into places we've dreamed. Faulting the true places we were destined to conquer.

Cursing the places that call our true name.

Were are parents to show us the way?

Or are we children no more?

Dying to be conditioned, coddled, commanded.

Lulled and showered with senseless admiration.

Poured with expectation.

Who are we to be as such?  

dancing shadows.

They danced in the dark. Covered in traditional dress. Except I couldn't really tell you which tradition it belonged to. They wore a large and elaborate head dress, many adornments on their wrists and feet and their entire body for that matter. Covered in meaningful accessory, it seemed from head to toe. At a glance, fear filled my body. I had woken in the middle of the night only to feel a certain presence in the room. Looking up, there in full attire, I seen a shadow. I couldn't recognize a face though I felt the shadow was a woman. She danced. She danced in a repeated motion, swift and precise. She seemed to lack the interest to attract my attention yet very intentional, she moved. It was like she was a recording. As if she had no idea I was in the room witnessing her intuitive choreography, but had the intention of me being effected by it. As if I would one day see it. After the fear passed that a strange shadow was dancing in my bedroom, there was a protection that swept over me. I stared, paralyzed at the dancing shadow woman positioned at the foot of my bed. We needed no words. I imagined somewhere in another place, or another time. She danced in a village. Others around her, seen her in ceremonial dance and dress, viewing it as an event or entertainment for a specific ritual. They had no idea exactly where her soul would be traveling or the work it would be doing. And there she traveled, to the foot of my bed. I felt grateful, special. That someone cared and felt a devotion to protect me in the middle of my slumber by my bedside. Through such intricate movement I was safe, I was loved, and I was apart of a culture that had such abilities. 

I am the breathe that flows through bellies full. The soil that fertilizes the growing spirit of the young.  I am dreams undone, voices now carried by the winds. Upon arrival they cry to be heard through you. You scream and we listen tentatively. You shriek and howl your misunderstandings. Remember to listen to the songs that warm your heart. The ones that don't always have a tone. Yet you still feel them deeply. They are found in the pits of your stomach, the tingle in your feet, and the stroke of your spine. Keep them only as long as they are needed. 

When you love, you embrace every past vessel of my heart. My memory is a shadow in the tone of your dearest song. I am your mother. The deepest that love has ever known, dwells in my womb. You know it very well but admit it seldom. Such modest blood. Such open wounds. We heal them together, you and I.

It doesn't matter what I may have been called toward you when I walked by your side. How language so inadequately decorated the title of our connection. Aunt or uncle, cousin or father.  It doesn't matter what words you did or did not say when you knew my flesh. Nor does it matter what caused my animate demise. What does matter is your understanding of me. That your ears remain open to my wisdom. I have much to give still. I am very full. And yet very empty ready to receive what you may be ready to release. Allow me to be your portal to the oneness of the “other world” And let me be a reminder that this other world is just as much as yours as it is mine. Let me be a reminder.