A searing pain that is left unspoken but strongly felt in the hearts and wombs of The Mother, night walking in the deep recesses of her being.

This culture of ours offers scraps to the Mother whose child is wandering off into the abyss. Wandering off into the realms of shadows. Wandering into the palms of those who would not have their best interests at heart.  

Our culture turns a blind eye to such things pretending that this existed anywhere but here. She is left only with the desperate prayer upon her heart.  

This culture offers limited time to the grieving mother who cannot hold her dear child close to heart. Who cannot stroke the hair of her most beloved creation while they drift off to sleep for they have drifted beyond this world into the unseen. Beyond her touch.

And as the pain sears into her heart every waking moment she is offered limited time to voice this grief. This unspeakable pain.  For after a while it is uncomfortable to those unfamiliar with the terrain of grief. Of whole bodied yearning for what one cannot have. And this culture speaks not of such things and she is left with the desperate prayer upon her heart.  

This culture offers condescending chit-chat to the mothers whose journey into the underworld of birth has left her scared. As she struggles through trauma unspoken she is left alone flailing to comprehend what just happened. Her body is screaming to be heard and yet she is met with words opposite in nature. This culture tells her she is lucky to have a baby at all.

Journeys into the underworlds

And so she stuffs these overwhelming emotions down into the pit of her gut and carries on. She loses a part of herself. She is smashed into a million pieces but culture does not speak of such things. Only of glowing and happy new mothers and so, she is left in the wee hours of the night with only a prayer upon her heart.  

This culture offers nothing to the mother who can only mother part-time. As though when the calendar clicks over her heart somehow closes. It cares not of how her heart aches when she watches her beloved children parented in a way completely different to her heart’s yearnings by others. It speaks to her of fairness and while her head understands her heart doesn’t not. She yearns to hold them close. The pain can be searing and she is left with a helpless prayer upon her heart.  

Darkness of her conditioning

This culture offers judgement of the mother battling with the darkness of her conditioning. When the trauma of her own past takes her over and she acts from this place, guilt and regret become her constant companion. She craves compassion and knowledge so she may crawl out of this hole but she must search far and wide for this. She is left with a hopeful prayer upon her heart.

The path less travelled

This culture offers shame to those mothers daring to walk the path less traveled. As she takes uncertain steps toward creating a new story for her children she can be met with feverish stories laced in fear about what happens when one ventures off this well-worn path we call normality. And so as she questions her deeply intuitive self she is left with a confused question upon her heart.

There is a darkness in the collective Mother. A searing pain felt by us all. The journey into the underworld is taken in differing forms by each and every one of us. We walk this journey and very sobering wisdoms are gleaned from these realms. Ones that bring us standing nose to nose with the truth of humanity, feeling it’s very breath upon our face.

And just when the pain feels so searing, the discomfort so intense, we think be cannot stand it, we realise we must expand and walk on.

We must continue anyway. Head held high. In spite of all that is happening, we must find it within ourselves to push through and rebirth ourselves over and over again.

How utterly amazing we are.

This is wisdom.
True wisdom.
Humble wisdom.
May we take just a moment to bow down at the feet of this wisdom…
Of these women.
Everyday women.
And see, see the truth of what lies within a mother who takes this journey seriously.
Who courageously learns from the underworld.
Who feels into the depths of her pain and allows it change her at the very core of her being.

Who no longer yearns to be the maiden but has expanded and expanded herself to embody what it truly means to be “The Mother.”

She has alchemized her pain into wisdom.
Just as our Mother Earth does.

These are the women who ought to be making decisions on our children’s education, on the health care of our youth,  and all else that shapes our children.
Our future.
Alongside great men who’ve had the courage to do the same.
This is the future I long to see.
Where the darkness is not only valued and supported.
But spoken about.
Where the feminine is remembered and honored in all her shades from the lightness to the dark and back again.

May all mothers remember and value the power of the alchemist inside her. 

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