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.

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It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
For love, for your dream,
For the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,
If you have been opened by life’s betrayals,
Or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain,
Mine or your own,
Without moving
To hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy,
Mine or your own,
If you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
Without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic,
or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself,
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithless and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty
Even when it is not pretty every day,
And if you can source your life
From its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure,
Yours and mine,
And still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes!”

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,
Weary and bruised to the bone,
And do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you are, how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
In the center of the fire with me
And not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
From the inside
When all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
With yourself,
And if you truly like the company you keep
In the empty moments.

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In motherhood there is no such thing as a simple decision. Every purchase has the potential to attach you to a movement, a decision can result in a  stamped membership card or a fast rejection letter.

I embraced the lines in the sand that were drawn in the name of activism, even played amongst them, but recently…it’s become tiresome.

Men don’t busy themselves with the child rearing practice of their friends. They don’t assume that their best bro forever is making a decision out of ignorance- “If only he had more information…or a brochure…”. Why do we try to mother each other?

There isn’t a mother who ventures outdoors with her child who hasn’t been burned by the spicy words and singeing glances of another breeder who would rather she didn’t parent “like that’. She has statistics, books, experience- good reason to know that what you’re doing is wrong wrong wrong. I know because I’ve done it.

Sat at the park in the late afternoon with all of the other parents doing the bedtime countdown, using the swings and slides to tap the last drops of energy from our baby’s bodies. I’ve watched you. Diagnosed you, really. And your future psychopath. Where are his shoes? Put a coat on her.

Why do I care what your child is doing? Out of love? Surely not. I’m not even sure I like mini-you. Then it must be out of fear. Fear that I’m not doing it right and that my best intentions will land me in a reality show intervention where my two teenage, pregnant, crack head daughters with tracks up their arms where stickers used to be, will scratch their dirty hair and empty heads while the television host signals to the producer to cut to a commercial because I’m about to faint.

Lions and tigers and bears.

Hmm no. My girls are manifestations of the Divine who will grow up to be world-changers and I know it. So what’s the problem?

May our uteri never stopped expanding even after we gave birth and the urge to s/mother everything within reach became overwhelming. Unlike our actual children who are our responsibility, the choices of our friends are theirs to make.

Can a LaLeche-er stand next to a bottle-feeder who has no interest in nursing her newborn without cringing and asking her if she needs help?

Can we trust that if a woman wants advice, she’ll use her lips, tongue and voice to ask for it?

“But what about the BABY! Baby needs…baby wants…baby deserves…”- from a purely biological standpoint all of the excuses to impose talking points or judgment may seem valid until we consider that what makes or breaks a mother at the end of the day is whether or not she feels supported. We’re not just chemicals and blood. Our souls drink connection and spirits crave to intertwine.

What will save the world? Will it be information or intimacy? Both. It is time to lead by example rather than fearful speeches and communicate without an agenda. It’s the difference between Mahatma’s “being the change” and hammering it in forcefully.

We can evolve as a sex. We can dissolve tension, melt haughtiness and form the refined shimmery matter that remains into a sisterhood. It can be done and it starts with me.

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When I first heard this I couldn’t really put my finger on what I loved about this statement . . . For me it meant that whether its biological, emotional or spiritual “mothers,” the people we are today is largely due to the efforts and influences our mother figures blessed us with.  We may not have always, or even currently, seen them as blessings, but even the hardships have influenced every subtle nuance of who we are today.

Although we may not always be appreciated for the things we do, it does make a difference.  Whether it’s decorating the house together or cleaning house together the children gather up those moments, memories and skills that will be with them throughout their lives. It’s invaluable, the things we teach our young ones when we’re not even trying . . . The courtesy we extend to others, the generosity we share, and the love we freely give.  The little things we do are all measures of how we mother our children and our world, like the rain nurturing a growing forest.

Though being a mama isn’t without it’s hardships, when I look into my daughters eyes and see a powerful love reflected back, I am reminded why I gladly get out of my cozy bed and nurse her back to her sweet slumber. It’s with that same love, Mother’s all over the world are nurturing & healing their own lives, that will in turn be used to overcome the seemingly overwhelming negativity that we have become accustomed to. Our children will usher in a new age of love, peace and understanding.  These children have an uncanny capacity for love, so mama’s keep up the good work and remember a tree is only as strong as it‘s roots.

“There are two kinds of people in this world, mothers and their children.” Let’s be sure that our influence is a positive one.

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I feel the love at 7 AM when I hear my toddler and husband playing in the kitchen while I nurse the little one in our bedroom. I feel it at 2 AM when I look at my newborn who is again, nursing, and looking so peaceful.

I’ve noticed that everything feels gentler in the wee hours of the morning. The hustle and bustle of daytime dissipates. Everything feels like it’s in semi-slow motion. I feel as if angels are watching me in awe, a divine mother tending to her young.

I’m so thankful.

“When I am with you, we stay up all night.
When you’re not here, I can’t go to sleep.

Praise God for those two insomnias!
And the difference between them.”

-Rumi

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