It is always surprising to me that after a massage, I start to intricately feel the soreness and tension I was holding in my body. Why was I carrying all that? How was I carrying all that? I start to feel the weight of what I carry. The massage offers release and is a reminder that there are some things we do not have to carry, especially not alone.
I think about “mother” more often as a verb. The act of mothering is to nurture, to protect, to raise, to love. Mother Earth too nourishes, supports, and grounds. As an adult, I mother myself. Packing snacks, my water bottle, or other goodies I may need throughout the day. I anticipate my future needs and address them graciously. When I am in the presence of my own mother, I savor the precious time. When I was home a few weeks ago, we stargazed hand-in-hand, laid out, counting shooting stars, making wishes, and naming the constellations we could see. Earlier that day, I overheard a child teasing with her mom saying she would stay the night at her teacher’s home instead of going home. In my mind’s eye, I thought back to my own story times and goodnight kisses I enjoyed each night while coming up with ways to make them last a little longer with another story or another kiss. I see those same tactics play out with my little cousins, wanting us to stay a little longer, while fighting to keep their eyes open. I told the child soon she will likely miss those nights, too. Like everything, our relationships with our mothers evolve. As an adult, I am starting to see my own mother beyond her mothering.
Re·ma·tri·a·tion
To restore sacred relationships between land and people, to return to the sacred Mother.
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