Come walk with me in the peak Autumn beauty of the Northwoods. To say that I love this time of year is an understatement. Most everyone can appreciate the colorful falling leaves---it reveals the 'true self' of a tree when its leaves are no longer producing chlorophyll. Their true colors are revealed, and there is something simple … [Read More...]
A Primal Rhythm of Motherhood
Things were going fine. I had done this before. I was patient and attentive. We all knew the routine. Then something changed. Most Moms have experienced that moment. It seems like there is calm before the storm, but in reality the energy is gathering. Something on the inside isn’t right—tension and discomfort are building. The crying begins…and doesn’t stop. Diapers are changed; food is offered. Rocking and walking and bouncing all in one continuous, gentle movement is the motion of motherhood. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. This particular time, it didn’t. As her distress continued, my inability to comfort her distressed me. Soon we were both crying. Walking, rocking, bouncing, crying—a primal rhythm of attachment and motherhood.
In our quest for Spring this week, we achieved a landmark—the green blush of new leaves on the stands of Aspen trees down by the River. The Oaks, Maples, and Ashes will soon obscure the Aspens, but for now, they allow us to see through them, past them, to the tender green beginners.
And then the rain came—the nourishment of new growth. It was exactly what we needed, what was expected.
Onion-like Chives shot up out of the ground while Creeping Thyme slowly greened behind them.
The stems on the Ostrich Ferns s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d in spurts of growth, even as the fiddleheads continued to hold their curls.
That afternoon, the rain changed to snow. The wind picked up. What seemed like a calm Spring rain became an energetic throwback to Winter.
The wind seemed to be coming from all directions—the snow fell in swirls, the Hemlocks twirled. Spring hope was blurred out by the tension and cries of ‘Winter!’
Eventually the wind and snow subsided, but the snow stayed on the ground through the chilly night.
By noon, the snow was gone, the calm of hope and Spring had returned. Did we really have snow just hours before?! Were we distressed just yesterday?
I don’t remember how long my baby and I walked, rocked, bounced, and cried. Time isn’t a thing during such holy moments. As my tears fell and melded with hers, I didn’t know it as a holy moment—that realization only came with the third and last baby. I do know, however, that we did it together. We weathered the storm of distress together. We got through to the calm of rest and hope together. That’s what this love-like-no-other-love means to me. That’s what the holy moments of motherhood are to me.
In My Dream, I Am a Mother
I attended a dream workshop last week. We learned about the biblical dreamers, the history of dream study, and how brain science has confirmed the times during our sleep cycle when our unconscious sorts through our daily experiences and extends wisdom to our consciousness in the form of a dream. The most profound part of the workshop was when we experienced the practice of group dreamwork, when one person shares her dream with the others. Each of the others ‘takes the dream as their own’ for a short time, and says what their associations are “in my dream.” And thus began the outpouring of profound words by a circle of women about motherhood, the deep, intense love for our children, our instinct to protect them, the painful knowing of them leaving the nest, guilt, loss, pride, the passing on of knowledge and values, the ones who stand with us, and who we are as a person in the midst of it all. We then ‘gave the dream back’ to the dreamer, and she could make whatever meaning resonated with her. We were all deeply touched by the dream and the process.
Motherhood, and all that goes with it, is not just for humans. Witnessing the mothering abilities and instincts of cats, cows, sheep, birds, deer, and even research mice has made me admire all mamas of creation. One mother we have seen frequently this year is a turkey and her young ones. At the beginning of August, she had taught her little ones to fly to the branches of an Oak tree to roost for the night.
At the beginning of September, they were following her through the woods in search of tasty insects, grasses, and seeds.
photo by Aaron Brake
By the beginning of October, the young ones had adult-sized bodies with awkward feathers and heads, and were still roosting in the Oak trees.
They were back this last week. The matriarch was heavy-bodied and mature in her rich, Fall feathers. She had laid the eggs over a month’s time, brooded them for another month, protected the poults before they could fly, lost a number of them before that time, joined with others into a family group, and was always watchful and protective as her young ones grew and developed.
She and her young ones have walked hundreds, if not thousands, of miles in their grazing pursuits in the last six months. What dangers they must have encountered in all those miles!
Because we know who also travels through the front yard…
The turkeys have also had many peaceful times in our yard and woods where acorns and maple seeds are plentiful.
I love this picture of Mama Turkey. She looks like she has ‘come into her own.’ Her young ones are big enough to fend for themselves but will stay with her until the next mating season in Spring. She has grown and developed also, during her motherhood.
Then it’s time to move on… More miles, more foraging, more watchfulness. The roles of motherhood are deeply ingrained.
Motherhood. It encompasses the deepest of emotions, the hardiness of body, the strength of spirit, and the burnishing of our soul. Perhaps our children are like dreams—they are shared with us, and we take them as our own. In my dream, you are loved beyond measure. In my dream, you are protected from harm and have all the essentials of life. In my dream, education and spirituality are daily practices. In my dream, the ones who stand with you will help you reach your greater good. In my dream, I am always with you…. And then, we have to give them back, and they make meaning out of their own lives. In motherhood, we start out rather unconscious, and as we walk the miles and live the years, we gain consciousness and wisdom. We come into our own. We move on—more loving, more letting go, more watchfulness. What a profound dream. What a profound process.