It was never my intent to become a Devouring Mother not once in the beginning did I ever think of the pain I might cause my Son. I was his Mother. I cherished him as well I should, a precious gift.
Maybe it was something that came from my own abnormal birth, given away to the hands of a kind lady never to know my birth mother or more likely I was just weak, unable to choose right from wrong, lost in my own dark thoughts that even a fresh babe was unable to sooth for long. I knew he had been born for all the wrong reasons. I did try for a while and then I broke in weakness and shame to wallow in a gutter of my own creation. Surrounded by love but untouched, taken as I was by my own endless rage.
Years pass, I was as dead as if I had been already in my tomb, barely noticing the months and years pass as my Son grew...sheltered away from most of my violence and pain.
Then I even failed at that, wishing him dead and leaving for months then years.
Sometime in there I woke up, I don't know why, but I can tell you when, a man did Great Work and played a simple song and I remembered, just a glimpse at first who I was. The dreams of family and happiness all the joy I had wished on those I loved, when I was young and fresh and had not broken so far from the Good World
As I dug into my Darkness I held a lamp high above the bleak terrain. It gave way to a fertile ground. Where blooms the flowers of reason and passion.
I found my courage and called him and in the silence of his voice, I knew I had become the Devouring Mother and I mourn.
I mourn for him and for me and for all the damage my pain has poured into the world. The regret is a deep and wide as the void had once been and in this field of regret a remedy is born.
I am not the suffering child, the wounded lover or the absent Mother. These are masks and roles I played in this theater of life. Roles I had agreed to before my birth.
As I awaken and grow yet remain so utterly the same my life has become a dance of intention and truth.
So I will give him a little time, to let the pain in him and his own wisdom tell him what he needs from me.
I will be there and I will call again soon and maybe next time the silence will not be so vast, but if it is I understand.
quixotic