This morning I dreamed
a friend rose to greet me
with a dark smudge
of ash on her chin.
And as I wondered on this,
the blot transformed,
regathering into the outlines
of an intricate tattoo,
spreading across her cheeks.
Then vibrant colors seeped into
the empty spaces, and a full scene
emerged on her face:
a vignette of a radiant woman
the empty spaces, and a full scene
emerged on her face:
a vignette of a radiant woman
quietly tending her garden
with peacocks and gladiolas,
sculptures and fountains,
sunrise.
My friend smiled at my astonishment.
“I want my children to have
something interesting to look at
in the morning...”
Indeed.
This is the mystery of
mother-life:
a vision of glory,
bright and beautiful story.
Who knows where this dream
would have taken her, and me,
if I had not woken up just then?
But is it just a dream?
A few thoughts:
Why didn't I see children in the tattoo/dream rather than just their mother? I think it is because the child is the beholder, watching the life of her mother in a moment in time. The mother is in the child's world, but the mother and child are distinct from one another, with their own identities and interests. The garden is also not the only scene she sees in her mother's life. There are so many other realms in which women flourish. As I said, who knows where else the dream would have gone?
Unfortunately, I am a black thumb gardener, but I still try to keep plants alive. My days find me in many places: working at my writing/art table, cooking and cleaning in my kitchen, answering crisis calls in the 211 center, listening to a lecture in a seminary classroom, typing away at online class assignments, shopping at the grocery store, in my mini-van picking up my kids or going through a drive through, strolling through botanical gardens and art museums, preparing for a family birthday for one of my adult children, visiting my adorable grandchildren... I am a mother of ten amazing kids, but I am more than a mother.
I do think an important milestone in maturity is for children to see their parents not as extensions of themselves, present solely for the purpose of attending to their every need, but as unique and distinct people with lives of their own. Our children do things with us that they will someday do themselves, or maybe even later with their own children. And they will accomplish many other things that we never even thought to do. And we will do other things not only when they have flown the nest, but while they are still with us. They need to see that.
As part of one of my seminary assignments, I watched a movie called Vision about Hildegard von Bingen, a medieval German nun. She excelled in so many areas - founding abbess/magistra of two cloisters, visionary mystic, traveling preacher, philosopher, poet, composer, playwright, gardener, herbalist, naturopathic medicine expert, scientist, ecologist, and so much more. She was "Mother Hildegard" to the nuns in her care, yet she was so much much more. In the movie, a very somber magistra from another cloister rebukes Hildegard for writing and producing an amazing musical play, Ordo Virtutum, on the moral virtues. How worldly and immodest to see nuns out of their habits, dancing and singing! Hildegard sagely responded, "God loves beauty! In paradise there is no ugliness." Ah!
On the dark smudge... So many dark things happen in life that dominate our mother-days at times. In this poem, the pieces of ash reorder themselves into art and come alive with color. This picture of grief and redemption makes me cry. Why did I dream of ashes and mothers? Maybe this: earlier in the morning, I had scrolled through my On This Day memory feed on Facebook feed. I saw pictures of a trip I took to Acadia National Park with my daughter, sister, and niece. We were scattering the ashes of my mother in the ocean at Thunder Hole. That poignant experience turned into a poem which you can read here: Thunder Hole.
Back to the present, and to the future...
What is your vision of mother-life?
Grace,
Virginia Knowles
P.S. I found the stained glass picture at the top of this post on Pinterest. There is no identification to it. I wish I knew the title and artist!
