(no subject)
I pretend to know what it's about, Love. Or, in fact, it is not pretending. Is it just how we visit love from the vistas of our past? See the horizon and bring with us the baggage that we've accumulated over the years?
Well Thank the Goddess in heaven that the baggage I've got is light and translatable. Here I stand, on a precipice. The work has been done. I love. I am Love and that is all. Surely there are blips and starts and stops as I navigate the vast grassland plain of sheer terror and ecstasy that is loving and relationships. But when I was loved, I knew it. When I was wrapped in my rainbow blanket, lying in my crib in the afternoon, she loved me. The sheets were cool on my face, and when I stretched my arms above my head to go to sleep, there was nothing wrong in the world. My world was her, and she was my Goddess, my everything. When she tucked me in at night, well into my teenage years and until I moved out into my own apartment, she gave me pieces of her soul that have built into a fortress in my heart. A fortitude of loving, a trust in my Self and my inner wisdom, passed down to her from her own mother, and from her mother, and hers. I trust others because I trust her.
And what of trust, they ask Him. And Willow says, if you had it, you get it. If you didn't, it takes years and years to get back. But she, my mother; she gave me more than I ever deserved and I trust her beyond a shadow of a doubt. Yes, human error. Sure. Yes, wounds that have grown into scars over time that we step around gingerly like gravestones. But in my body and soul, I love being a woman because she modeled femininity. The curve of her arm. Skirts and bikinis, and long hair she would curl in hot rollers for special occasions. She is so beautiful, even now, almost 60. A renewed beauty that she wears with grace, like a tree turning amber and crimson in the fall crispness.
She gave to me the most precious gift of her self-love. Modeling for 8-year-old impressionable me what life looks like when you choose your own self-respect. What it looks like to love a man who respects her and the kids who he raised as his own. Making a decision that killed her a little inside, knowing that ultimately the sacrifice would be worth it. One that 17 years later I made myself, knowing that I was worth more than what I was being given by a man that was never going to be able to face down his demons.
And when I love, the love that runs through my veins and beats in my heart, smoothing furrowed brows laid on my chest, holding and listening to myriad grievances and joys, kissing cheeks and ears and lips, hugging with my whole chest and tight arms, refusing to let go even if the recipient gets a little squirmy: It's Her. It's my beautiful, wonderful mom and every second of loving that she gave to me. It's the nights she stayed up with me until midnight drying my tears and smoothing my hair when my middle school girlfriends decided they didn't like me anymore and ignored me at school for weeks. It's her knowing nod when Mikey broke up with me after I had given him my virginity, and I couldn't listen to Bonnie Raitt. "I couldn't listen to that song for a long time, too", she said. It's the nights she let me sleep in her bed when AJ left for college and I thought I would die. Standing in her bedroom holding me watching the twin towers go down on TV. Every opening night that she came and cheered me on, with flowers. Every illness, every heartbreak. Every time she didn't pass judgement (or kept it to herself). All of the moments when she chose love, when I was being impossibly self-centered and hurtful. Every time she gave me another chance and had compassion. Every one of these moments is present in every touch I give to the people I adore, the community I have built around myself that thrives on joy and love and positivity. These moments live on in the choices I make to have people around me whom I trust. They live on in my willingness to trust and be trustworthy. To live with conviction, humility and most of all, love.
And when God willing, someday I have my own children, I will love them so hard that hearts will swirl around their heads. They'll know just as I do, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they are loved in this world. That there is nothing that they can do or say that will stop me from loving them with my whole heart. They will know that they can trust me to be my word, and to give them everything that I have to give.
They'll know that Grandma is an amazing woman, just like Great-Grandma before her. Unbroken lineage of loving that my hands will pass on. Smoothing hair and wiping tears, tucking and holding and listening and crying and laughing like only women can do together. Her legacy lives on in me, in my heart here where she has built her queendom of trust and love.
Well Thank the Goddess in heaven that the baggage I've got is light and translatable. Here I stand, on a precipice. The work has been done. I love. I am Love and that is all. Surely there are blips and starts and stops as I navigate the vast grassland plain of sheer terror and ecstasy that is loving and relationships. But when I was loved, I knew it. When I was wrapped in my rainbow blanket, lying in my crib in the afternoon, she loved me. The sheets were cool on my face, and when I stretched my arms above my head to go to sleep, there was nothing wrong in the world. My world was her, and she was my Goddess, my everything. When she tucked me in at night, well into my teenage years and until I moved out into my own apartment, she gave me pieces of her soul that have built into a fortress in my heart. A fortitude of loving, a trust in my Self and my inner wisdom, passed down to her from her own mother, and from her mother, and hers. I trust others because I trust her.
And what of trust, they ask Him. And Willow says, if you had it, you get it. If you didn't, it takes years and years to get back. But she, my mother; she gave me more than I ever deserved and I trust her beyond a shadow of a doubt. Yes, human error. Sure. Yes, wounds that have grown into scars over time that we step around gingerly like gravestones. But in my body and soul, I love being a woman because she modeled femininity. The curve of her arm. Skirts and bikinis, and long hair she would curl in hot rollers for special occasions. She is so beautiful, even now, almost 60. A renewed beauty that she wears with grace, like a tree turning amber and crimson in the fall crispness.
She gave to me the most precious gift of her self-love. Modeling for 8-year-old impressionable me what life looks like when you choose your own self-respect. What it looks like to love a man who respects her and the kids who he raised as his own. Making a decision that killed her a little inside, knowing that ultimately the sacrifice would be worth it. One that 17 years later I made myself, knowing that I was worth more than what I was being given by a man that was never going to be able to face down his demons.
And when I love, the love that runs through my veins and beats in my heart, smoothing furrowed brows laid on my chest, holding and listening to myriad grievances and joys, kissing cheeks and ears and lips, hugging with my whole chest and tight arms, refusing to let go even if the recipient gets a little squirmy: It's Her. It's my beautiful, wonderful mom and every second of loving that she gave to me. It's the nights she stayed up with me until midnight drying my tears and smoothing my hair when my middle school girlfriends decided they didn't like me anymore and ignored me at school for weeks. It's her knowing nod when Mikey broke up with me after I had given him my virginity, and I couldn't listen to Bonnie Raitt. "I couldn't listen to that song for a long time, too", she said. It's the nights she let me sleep in her bed when AJ left for college and I thought I would die. Standing in her bedroom holding me watching the twin towers go down on TV. Every opening night that she came and cheered me on, with flowers. Every illness, every heartbreak. Every time she didn't pass judgement (or kept it to herself). All of the moments when she chose love, when I was being impossibly self-centered and hurtful. Every time she gave me another chance and had compassion. Every one of these moments is present in every touch I give to the people I adore, the community I have built around myself that thrives on joy and love and positivity. These moments live on in the choices I make to have people around me whom I trust. They live on in my willingness to trust and be trustworthy. To live with conviction, humility and most of all, love.
And when God willing, someday I have my own children, I will love them so hard that hearts will swirl around their heads. They'll know just as I do, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they are loved in this world. That there is nothing that they can do or say that will stop me from loving them with my whole heart. They will know that they can trust me to be my word, and to give them everything that I have to give.
They'll know that Grandma is an amazing woman, just like Great-Grandma before her. Unbroken lineage of loving that my hands will pass on. Smoothing hair and wiping tears, tucking and holding and listening and crying and laughing like only women can do together. Her legacy lives on in me, in my heart here where she has built her queendom of trust and love.