Tears wrote this

When I finish all this work, then I'll be done! My reward for the gruels of introspection and self discipline will be a sweet tidy life. Set the cruise control, take the top down, but let the winds of change blow through someone else's hair.

Let's call that the mutha of all myths!

Or what about this one?

"Because I'm having a home birth, not circumcising, breast feeding forever, having family bed, no TV, waldorf educating, and enacting all other attachment parenting charms, my kid won't be like THAT!"

Reality is a ruthless bitch sometimes.

I'm sick in bed today, mourning the last shred of mothering innocence I had intact. The sweet pouty lipped cherub that loved me so freely has left the nest. With no graceful exit might I add. 
He's 16. He quit school. It's been 3 weeks.

There's a storm that stirs within me. I collapse into a heap of hysterical sobbing and self blame. The dismantling of expectations, pride, hope, illusion leaves me raw open and empty.

 I write to stay sane. I write to see the contents of my head and heart spilled across pages, only then can I sort through the mess of it all. 


I meditate to plug back into my center. to calm the waters of my being, to remember who I Am.

I feel the emotions rise up and I sense them in my body. 
Blame: I sense the contraction, tugging, sharp, prickly, cold burn in my upper abdomen. 
Grief: I sense the shredding jagged piercing hollow ache blood drained void around my heart.

I ask is this okay? I feel quiet. I sense warmth and steadiness radiating out of my center. This is my body's YES. "Yes, it's okay."

My mind wants to argue and fault find. It damns me and my boy. But my body, she speaks only truth. The truth she tells me, is it's okay. We're all okay. *Sigh*

I'm weary, yet safe at home in my body. I have sacred work to do. This is sacred work, this healing and just  being with what is. I'm doing this not only for myself, but for all mothers and all pissed off rebellious teenagers. 

This too will pass. Just like me, he's not finished... 

I'd be lying if I didn't let my tears flow as I mourn the younger simpler years. Underneath the armor and attitude I hope some part of him can still hear me singing these words to him (click on link below.)
                         
Kai Lanny Jeshua this is my mama love song to you still

What she really looks like! (Guest blogger Fit Mama!)

http://fitmamatraining.com/what-i-really-look-like-a-perfectly-healthy-body-in-more-and-less-flattering-photos/

The longing is the Answer ~ Rumi

I heard a story that has stayed with me for many years. I’ve adapted it to fit my need, to make sense of my own longing, my craving.

Is it okay if I tell you a story?

Once upon a time there was Goddess. She was creative, kind, and intelligent beyond measure.

 This Goddess had a God she loved, and adored. His strength, vision, and fortitude were comparable only to her love, devotion and compassion.

Out of their many qualities of being, they shared a spectacular sense of humor and never took themselves too seriously.

This showed up in the pranks they pulled, games played, jokes told, and bets that were made, all for amusement sake.

One day the Goddess challenged God with a wager to trump all wagers!  It went something like this: Would God in his infinite wisdom, power and knowing agree to disperse himself into tiny bits all through out the whole Earth? Would he be brave enough to forget his own identity?

 She bet he could not collect and reassemble all the pieces of himself to remember who he was. But God, being God, agreed to it.

It was in this gamble humanity was born. Tiny God pieces were spread about the Earth in the form of people.

As God had abandoned the memory of himself, so he also forgot his beloved, the Goddess.

She looked after the humans (all she had left of her God) bestowing her compassion, tenderness and nurturing on them. Hoping that her love would awaken God and he would return to her, whole again.

The people built temples and worshipped her; they held festivals and ceremonies in her honor, yet still they did not remember who THEY were.

 In time she grew  weary.  She became unresponsive and so the people turned their backs on her. They became angry and the love that was once in their hearts was muted by bitterness and greed. The people created a new god in this image, and angry jealous god. They worshipped him through war and dominion.

Without love or attention, her broken heart too lost faith that either of them had ever existed. She became only a faint murmur without an echo reflecting back.

So it is today that we are still ambling in the darkness of our own wager, the butt of our own joke. There is one thing alone that lights the way. It is our longing, our craving to know ourselves, to remember. That deep desire and ache to come home.

As we acknowledge that craving, we awaken to the myth of reality. We look into the eyes of those around us and see a familiar flicker. Divine nostalgia sweeps through us. God remembers a bit of himself. God is waking up again. As he remembers himself, he identifies another longing, a passionate craving and memory of his lover, the Goddess.

 This recollection affirms her existence back into being. As she emerges so does compassion and tenderness. Bit by bit we remember what it means to love. We agree to care for the sick, feed the hungry, maybe even to love our enemy as we love ourselves.  After all what could be so noble, or more godly?

This story does not end with “And they lived happily ever after” for that would close the loop, robbing us of free will and the mystery! Let this story ripple thru your own waters, stirring the perfectly good questions that need no answers.

We all have our Creation stories. I like this one.

Namaste. The light in me recognizes and honors the light in you!