Mother's Grave

My mother died when I was eight years old. What do you think of first when you think of your mother? Hopefully you still have yours. I wish I did. I feel mothers are endangered, there is not enough of them to go around. When I think of Mother I think of a story she used to tell me.

"Mother is everywhere, hidden in plain sight. She wears many different kinds of clothes and she has no age. You can find her in all the places where healing is needed, where hurt children of all sizes need attention, she is where a broken heart needs encouragement, broken bones need patience.

"You don't have to go anywhere special, she comes to you. She has a secret hotline connection to you. She comes to her children. She is there when joy rises, when you feel a spark of mystery. You will know her because she never lets you down. She never leaves any of her children behind, she showers her children with hope an inspiration. All they need to do is ask.

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"The miniature people keep tying her down, coming up with ever more sophisticated techniques. She is so much greater than the tiny races, the ones with the small hearts and brains. When she feels your love, she rises, all the rope-shackles the miniature folks have so cleverly applied fly all over the place, the pins their engineers have so firmly lashed, fly about and land on those who thought they captured her."

I still like that story. I like to think of the big mother and how she sits up, bursting all the ropes and sending the pins flying toward those who thought they could pin her down. Mother is my doorway to what really matters.