The First Space

I’ve been thinking about space a lot lately.

And mothers.

Mothers and space.

How our first space within space

was our mother’s womb.

How our first land

Was her body.

The Mother is the connection to the Great Mother.

She is the micro to the macro,

a small echo of the great universal womb

that holds us all.

When our mother’s womb is warm and connected,

her heartbeat steady and rhythmic

we learn that the world, too,

can be warm, connected, steady.

When her arms are soft and safe,

we begin to believe

that the universe might be too.

But what happens when the mother is wounded?

When she herself does not feel fully safe here?

When perhaps her love is conditional,

when touch can not always be warm?

The rupture is quiet,

but it lives in the body like a silent winter.

The baby feels it.

The disconnection.

The disorientation.

The question:

Is the world safe?

Is life fully nurturing?

Is what I am a part of… kind?

When we are severed from the mother,

we are also severed from the Great Mother.

And the ache becomes a lineage of longing.

But when we choose to heal the mother (or father) wound,

when we stop needing them to be

what they could not be,

when we grieve their absence,

and release the dream of our connection…

something shifts.

The soul begins to fall back.

Not into her arms

but into the arms of the Great Mother.

Where skin is dirt, and moss,

and mountain rivers

and all children are nourished, equally.

Where mother and daughters

both, together,

are sisters before all else.

Healing is a return.

A holy re-mothering.

In forgiving the mother,

we remember the Mother.

In releasing the holding,

we find ourselves held.

In having the courage to rest,

‘alone’ like a newborn child again,

we find we are not alone at all.

We are resting

in the arms

of something wider than DNA.

Older than time.

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