it cannot be that intimacy should find me
in places where I have carefully buried myself
behind clothes
and jokes
and degrees.
it cannot be that joy should rap on my soul
and roll under its door
dance through its halls
and pour over its walls like morning rays.
it cannot be that kindness should find form
with hands
and smile
and hearty laugh
breaking all that is left of my silly attempts at melancholy.
it cannot be that Love should find me
render me exposed
draw me in
warm me
for the Love.
a cradlesong
swept along
rocking back
and forth
cooed from the Mother’s breast
a rhythmic breath
inviting me to close my eyes to rest
I AM here, loving you in the non-doing
I AM here, singing softly over you, beloved child
I AM here, in the midst of the anxious unknowing
a cradlesong
soft and strong
breathing in
breathing out
hummed through a Parent-proud smile
a wordless song
calling me, “open for Grace”
I AM here, watching excitedly your exploring
I AM here, whispering blessing over you, beloved child
I AM here, your discoveries are my delight
a cradlesong
fierce among
the constant
and the changeable
restored through the Son’s bright best
a succor adoration
I am here, gratitude spills from my lips
I am here, dancing in your song, free in your embrace
I am here. I AM here.
I think I have hurt you
the weight of the matter can’t even be measured in grams,
but here I am with tears rolling.
and then they fall faster as I try to reign them in.
Don’t you cry!
You know better!
Are you so insecure?
Are you so infantile?
you hold me close
shhhh….Baby, that Voice is a liar.
tell me what the voice says…
The Voice says that you won’t be able to stay
that I will drive you away
that the me with scars is too much to love for long.
you cover my lips with yours and let me borrow your breath
I realize I have been holding my own
terrified that I will exhale a torrent.
do you know that I won’t leave?
Your oxygen and compassion enter my cells,
I begin to warm
yes.
my mind and my heart are moving to align and then,
then I will feel what I know.
What a weird word: Identity.
In my past, I have seen it like Plato’s Forms,
suggesting a truest self–something so fully unique and completely me that informs the self I am in the world,
disconnected from the day-to-day
and by virtue carries no layers of
societal b.s.,
middle school wounds or
instead it transcending my experiences and social location;
This form is the most foundational me.
It is a comfort to think, “oh that is not me-me–
that is a distortion caused by external circumstance.”
As if I want you to believe that my actions are just a fun house mirror, not
me.
If I could get back to the me-me then…
But this sense of me can feel like there are so many layers between me and me and most importantly between me and you.
It leaves insulation between our intimacy
as you cannot reach my self and I likely cannot reach yours.
How can you see anything but the shadows cast on the cave walls of my sense of true self and operating self?
You can’t.
I have grown
my sense of me is not so disjointed within
I grow in knowledge and wisdom
the shape of my identity have changed or been shed like skin cells,
once me but now dust.
I do not fear so much this sense of me as much,
this one has the freedom to morph and change
it is not static
its validity is not based in its ability to be unchanged.
I am endeavoring to pray for my family this advent–and family is a term that I use with great depth, sincerity, and also with great flexibility. If you can hold the tensions–how family can be both a bounded set and have room for its walls to flex and stretch over the hearts that have connected to my own then you are ready to journey beside me.
So we start here:
You are the Mother,
the one who provides space for the fragile to grow,
who shares of your own heart
to give life.
You are the Mother,
the one that labors in the dark night and the wee hours,
who shares of your own heart
allowing it to break and burst.
You are the Mother,
the one that speaks words of peace in the tumult,
who shares of your own heart
to draw out the disquieted and bereft
lifting out the sorrow to carry on your own chest.
You are the Mother,
the one that feeds your children,
who shares of your own body
broken for us, raised before us
making us sister and brother
calling us ever to your heart.
You who created us, labored for our delivery, sustains us and carries us it is to you that we give thanks. In you we are found to be made family, and in you we are able to live and move and have our being. Bless the family you have made, bless us to be ever more like you–loving, carrying and creating. In your name we pray. Amen.
