Moon Mama's blog

and i don't always feel lucky
but i'm smart enough to try
cuz humility has buoyancy
and above us only sky

I wish I could fall into a good book. Make a room inside my head to hang out in.

I need to cultivate more dignity and grace. I want to feel more powerful and clear. I am worrying about my Mothering.
It care so much about doing a good a job, but with all that is going on I have to dig so hard. It feels unfair.

I had a dream last night that I checked into a hotel for the weekend and all of these people took care of me all weekend. It was really odd and uncomfortable in some ways. But, to have someone to just help me hold some of this would not be bad.

I think about trying to schedule a massage, but I am afraid I will cry.

survivors are part turtle
we are part potato bug
we know enough to go fetal
'til it's still up above
and you gotta crawl through the desert
between when you hear it 
and when you can play it with your hands
just to rendezvous with whoever you are 
when you finally understand


I feel really lonely and sad. My words are bouncing around all my empty spaces. 
I am dreaming of bad behavior to blunt what ever feeling I am avoiding. 
 Self hating hating distractions that mock mercy. 

I just want to be held. 

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

On the day you were born
I became
Demeter.

You descended into the NICU
Sterile and terrible.
Breathing air that was other worldly.

Man made.

Tubes unlike the fleshy ones that connected us
all those months.
Impaled in a nose that was
too small and tender to
be believed.

I had visiting hours.
Every two hours with
Pitiful ounces of breast milk carried
In empty arms.
Sacred.
The amount documented and evaluated.

Hands scoured and scrubbed
Walking on feet swollen and unrecognizable.

Empty hands at the end of 20 minutes.
My own Hecate silent.

It's time to put her back now dear.

You were my Persephone
and
I wanted to freeze the
World
until your
small baby sneeze
in my hospital room
Brought the Spring.