I remember the stories about those rare men who walked closely, knowing your voice so well that nothing could separate them from You. I want that too, God. Will you ‘mother may I’ love and bless me like that?
Seeking you now in between the words and through them, I feel this writer’s block as the cursor just winks at me. Blinking again and again to alert me that the next message is ready for recall, but not much appears. I am too happy, perhaps.
Will I recall that story well?
Will this paragraph be worth our time?
What is the point of all this?
Who knows, but You and me and all those other slices of One soul. In the end, it won’t really matter. What seems to be vital, however, is developing this connection to our divine Source of soul-making.
A man may be shocked
when he sees you’ve really changed.
He thought you’d been scribbling in your journal
– a sentimental, little Victorian girl
writing in your little book,
naive and uninitiated.
Suddenly, when you say,
Look, this is what I think,
he can’t believe
what’s coming out of your mouth.
Mother puts up with anything.
Mother is unconditional love.
When you say,
See me as I am,
you are no longer mother,
no longer his ideal woman.
He thought you’d been
scribbling in your journal