I am not your mother

Am not - am - a partner. Behaves differently. There is always a searching for the mother presence - something to soothe - a breast to suckle at. It’s ok - we all have a version of it - we all are walking boobies looking for other boobies. But here, we are not that. Are not mother, not father - but lover. We drop the story and pretences and stare into the naked void of each others suffering - each others pain. We cannot fix each other - though we might try. We cannot fall into roles that sap our life force - though we may from time to time. This is a revolution, a revelation to my life - something standing up to the parts in me that desperately want to attach to you - to control you - make you all mine. And gently, tenderly you carry out your soul’s orders - gently and wisely you hold your own ground so that I might come upon my own. And it is terrifying to come upon the ground of my deepest wounding in the sight of one I love the most. I cannot help but squirm and dive - want to disappear and whimper off to some cave. Hold me in your loving gaze - allow the safety of my own embrace to be the net for catching your love - that heals. Along with my own love - that heals. We are in the healing game you and I and that is hard work. Getting out of the way again, and again, and again. There are frequently no words for what is coming to pass - only gratitude - gratefulness for every piece of this I have with you. The surge and pull of the tides across our very differently lives. We lean in - kiss - lean out - live. We are many things to many people and still we deepen. A profound mystery to me - why the way it works is the way it works. And my longing now - to be alone in desolate nature - my greater mother - holding me like the earth under my feet, holding me like the sky with no beginning and no end. Just like the way you hold me. And I can trust this until the end of time.