When You Are Here
There is no chill in the breeze this morning, only the heat of the early sun beating down. It seems like a good day to wear a dress. My garden is ablaze with wild morning light and it’s too warm for the jersey I’m wearing. It’s early for this kind of weather, yet here we are.
The bamboo chimes sway slightly. They offer gentle notes of music…tinkle, tinkle, tinkle… There’s a sense of anticipation in the air, the one you get when you know that something wonderful is about to happen. Somewhere inside me dormant wild seeds are bursting back to life. Winter slowed me down, lulling parts of my into a deep slumber. Now I feel a revival taking place within.
Something about the light, the breeze and the sweet chiming sounds makes me wonder things. Like what it will be like when you are here?
You, my dear child, son, daughter…or both.
I think of you often. I feel your spirit around me too. I love you already. But I want to know, what will it be like to see you, feel you, hold you and know you in the flesh?
Will you squeal with delight when we walk out into the garden, saluting the sun, collecting herbs and giving thanks to Mother Earth, to the Goddess? Will you love the feel of wet grass under your feet?
And your hands, those tiny precious hands. I see them in my mind’s eye all the time. I imagine them kneading with me, scattering flour on the kitchen floor and leaving little imprints in the dough when we bake our weekly loaf.
These thoughts stir whirls of joy in my heart. They give me hope. I know that you will come when you are ready. Being patient isn’t easy, but yes, I must not lose faith.
I came across a quote by Nancy Levin yesterday that says: “Honour the space between no longer and not yet.”
I took it to heart. While I want you to be here more than anything, you are not yet. In the meantime, I need to remember to honour this space in-between, to accept it as it is. I need to stop seeing it as an eternal waiting room of separateness and instead cultivate wholeness, softness and the right kind of readiness to receive you into. I need to focus on cultivating the kinds of qualities that allow me to become wild mother I want to be to you.
That is what I will do. Something tells me that the more I peace find in this space between, the sooner the day will come when I awake up to discover that the ‘not yet’ is the present and there you will be in my arms. Until then, I carry you in my heart.