Mother's Day: The Garden of Silence, part ii

On all of the Sundays that I have observed in silence, every other week, since last August 2012, I have kept my sacred vow.  Well, there has been a slipped word or two -an automatic, "sorry"  for something once or twice.  And, I admit, a four-letter word slid out of my mouth one day, oops. Fortunately no one heard that.  

I am not perfect, but all in all, it's been a successful campaign, one I will continue with a glad heart.   Last week however, I gave myself permission to make one phone call to my 94 year old mother for Mother's Day.   She doesn't know about my Sunday's in silence, not for any reason other than I thought it might confuse her if she needed to reach me.  So we had a lovely chat in the late morning and that felt absolutely right. I cannot think of a better reason to break my silent ritual.  Anyone who has a Mother at that age, would no doubt agree, a lucky thing to have her longevity, health and her pretty sound mind. Not something you want to miss, or take for granted, especially on Mother's Day!  I desire to nurture our connection, even long distance, as long is she is on this physical plane. 

As mentioned in the previous piece, (A Lesson in Calm) in a Craniosacral training class, I participated in last year, with Michael Dunning, he said:

In the earliest embryonic process, the human heart arises from stillness, deep stillness for 48 hours-as the future heart gets impregnated with spiritual information.  The heart forms above the future head and folds into the interior space of the body later.  When we are first conceived, our form, the zygote-meaning yoked, like yoga- is more of a mineral than an animal, cells dividing inwardly, not expanding until we are implanted into the wall of the uterus.  Once that happens we are more plant -like than animal.  A thin membrane connects our spine to our mother before there is an umbilical cord, we are more two-dimensional than three-dimensional, like a sprout.  

We are truly rooted to Mother Earth through the womb of our mother and we are rooted to stillness, it is in our earliest nature to be held in the space of the eternal connection to Mother.  Just returning from a visit to the bosque near my home in Albuquerque, the wooded area I love, I felt called to a few trees along the ditch we call the "Mother Ditch."  This is the main ditch or acequia that runs from the Rio Grande River.  There are dozens of ducklings paddling in the shallow water with their feathered parents now. Next to the embankment and near to a major freeway overpass, several trees have rooted themselves.  One is a young elm, another, a Russian Olive, but the one that called to me was a fruit-bearing Mulberry tree.  As I came closer to its waving arms, I saw that some of its berries were dark, ripe and already falling on the ground below. I delighted in eating them right off the branches in gratitude for being nurtured in the tenderness of this sweet fruit. To all Mothers, human and other than human, much love to you, may you know deep sweetness for all you do.