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A Vessel Cries

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It is the beginning of the end of the beginning, the final push homeward is born in pain with sweat whimpers and an extraction from contractions. A bed cries out loudly lying in the pain of insanity and in-between worlds where very little consciousness remains.

If not for the finally of the red beckoning for fresh innocents and its bundling, her passing out would be Kismet. But there’s a bundling of blanketed love requiring to be tendered and so she holds at bay that ocean of darkness for as long as she can.  She understands that the ship of tears will pass and motherhood will sail into its place. She must guide the ship through the canal and dock it in the light, for no man nor husband can withstand the danger nor delight of this voyage. In a love reserved for her tender desire lies a love that shall never desire rebate.  It is the beginning of her whitest day.  But now in that postnatal weaken state and in the name of duty she vacations from the awakening and slides into the dream world under the motherhood of eyelids. With the bundle still wrapped in secure arms she becomes the drifting in the quiet silence,  the whispering of the warmth of a wanting wind, she is the peace in this world we cannot find by ourselves, she is a lover, a mother, and a friend.  Enjoy these moments of glorious relaxation dear one, for rest is driving down a one way dead end Street, and soon sleep will become a dream.  Upon awakening from her maternity leave and respite, she immediately is reminded that she has given up the throne of her kingdom to the lovely tiny and now is humbled into servitude.  The bundled baby has dethroned her and she has been removed as queen to become a loyal and obedient servant.  The mascara crying out loud down her plump cheeks is for the first time irrelevant, the disheveled hair on her head that she would normally toss out of its disarray state has become a badge of courage and success, the beam of light coming straight at her from her husband’s penetrating eyes can only see the abundance of her real beauty. That inner sanctum reserved for only a new mother.   She is now so much more than all the years before and love grapples in order to handle all of her.  For she is now a woman of light, a forever mother, and the most beautiful life in all the universe, she has conquered the secret to creating life. She is the child’s god.

Two years has passed and the silky white skin unruffled from her previous life has respectfully resigned in order to look for work in the stream of youth.  But in its place as sleep unfurrows her eyes a faint but real world begins dancing in her early morning ears, “Mommy”  How is it possible a single word can level out all those bumps of a life? “Mommy get up”.  Love for the most part is always a battle of three soldiers, one is on the path you want to take, one is on the path you think you will take, and one is on the path you did take.  But in all the universes, in all of humanity, in all of the time since the beginning nothing and I mean nothing competes with a mother and child’s first fresh kiss at sunrise. The word beauty consummates itself from this reverent event, to gaze upon it is to clearly understand creation and the purpose of life itself. It is at the pinnacle of our own saturated soul and is beyond any doubt what we all intuitively have known, creation is within her and surrounds the rest of us.

The trials of motherhood will become endless with the finally coming to roost when the child becomes a young adult and without memory that her preciousness is from the cause of her mother.  Wicked words will escape and will get caught up in the undertow of young pain from the child nearly drowning her beloved mother.  Eventually the daughter will spawn her own new life and will come to regret any and all bad spoken words aimed in the direction of her mother creator.  This is our cycle of life.  A tear in creation allows a newborn into the world, another tear sends the mother out of the world, the high and low tides of life fills with happiness and despair, and all any of us can do is try to hold our head up high above the tide and take deep breaths as we subside, holding up our children hoping they will survive.

The day comes for all ex queens when they go to meet the king in his kingdom.  The child arrives dressed in regret and full of well wishing. While the mother departs in the nude.  For a mother always forgives in the name of love and in the name of her daughter.  The secret the child has yet to learn is that a mother’s love finds happiness in the forgiveness of her child.

As the dirt at the dead end street is filled in with the true sounds and sobs of a lost motherhood, a subliminal dispatch is sent throughout the world and is received in harmony with all other mothers.  The bond is recognizable in all languages, it sings loudly of sorrow but also completion and gratitude. A woman from our earth has left us, but graced us with her purity and declaration of dedication while here.   Sail in harmony dear lady comes the sound back from the world. The daughter’s eulogy is sweet and from the heart.

Oh mother; sleep now sweet young and know how much you’re missed. That without you sunrise nor sunset shall behold themselves to bliss. And each morning most of all, I shall remember and miss your mothers kiss.  Catch the wind mom, catch the wind and be free.


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