Re-wiring

the word Mum
is called out to me
probably 50 times a day

in various lengths and volumes

I reply with Yes?

Even when i am outside of the house and the child isn't mine- it's become my name and without fail i respond at some level of consciousness.

The sun is back and i remember, a high school day when i sat in the greyness of showers and shelter and someone looked at my sad face and said 'You really are solar powered.'

It made me smile.

I am also people powered.

The sun, it makes me optimistic.

Sometimes I dream big dreams, and sit on clouds of could be's

they hold the strings to all my balloons, pulling me back and letting me go, yanking and letting drift.

Mum?

Yes?

And sometimes i don't even hear them.

I am filled with guilt for all the things i have yet to do all the promises i might have broken, all the important parts of them that they offer me that i'm too tired, or preoccupied to take.

And the sun... it reminds me... to let go.

Let go and try again.

So i look at their faces.

I get on my knees.

They hug me always when i come to their level.

Sometimes i will lift them to mine.

They tell me of all the things that they have done and seen - reality and imagination intertwined in one.


And all the things i've learned about the world, quietly reminding me. To see. To love. To listen. Reminding me to pay attention.

One of my 'clients'- a mother and grandmother, an extraordinary woman, full of fire and warmth- she welcomes me to her home and we spend most of our appointments talking. I love her energy. I wish i could wrap up the break that she needs in pretty papers and ribbons and give to her what she truely deserves.

Her husband who is there occasionally adds his opinion.

When i get up to leave, we have a moment where he questions the work i have come to do. I tell him honestly what i believe. That she does not really need what i am here to show her, but she asked and so i come.

He tells me he can see through me.

I laugh nervous and curious.

He can tell what people are like when he looks at them.

I ask him to tell me what i am like.

He hesitates a moment. Tells me if he says the truth, perhaps i will not come back.

Oh? Is it that bad?

He laughs and tells me that i am full of sadness.

It is the week of mums death anniversary. I have been full of sadness.

I nod and say you're right.

And he continues with 'But you're full of sadness because you see sadness in the world.'

I smile a little, and avert my eyes. Maybe?

'You love your job don't you.'

I'm not sure, to be honest- i like the job because i like people.

'You don't like people- you love them. You love them so much, their sadness becomes your sadness.'

I laugh a little, and i say 'Maybe you're right. I wish i could help people, but i never know what to do.'

He laughs at me, and we manage to change the subject to animals as we walk out the door.

When he goes to show me some photos of his cat and chicken- he passes over some of a cactus flower - the moon flowers i had just described to my kids a few nights before. Mums flowers.

I tell him my mum had those flowers.

He shows me more photos.

His wife who has been watching with quiet amusement says 'Me, i like my orchids,' and indicates to a table, covered in orchid plants and flowers.

My mum... she loved orchids too.

We look up at the trees talking about birds- and i say 'Oh wow! Is that a mulberry tree?'

Yes, it is.

Oh man, my childhood has the memory of a mulberry tree planted in it...

When i leave them finally, i smile to myself.

All the heaviness of days that i carry sometimes, when i take notice of the world again- i find it's gentle reminders. That life, is connected in these incredible strands - of strength and fragility spun into threads that i cannot begin to unravel.

All people for a reason.

All things for a reason.

Let go of what's happened.

And learn from what is.

I'm not really sure what this whole blog was about.

Just where i am right now, another experiment in the science of being.

Thank you, for reading...