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Mindbody Medicine: Poetry: mother to a young man

Originally posted November 20, 2013.

Late November afternoon. Fall is a powerful season, The leaves fall from the trees like tears from my eyes.

The breeze stirs the spirits of the past living in the long shadows.

Once again I feel my embodied youth. My horse and I gallop as one

In the amber harvest sunset.

Crows flit like black pieces of paper scattered on the wind.

In an instant, his shoulders move left out from under me.

Unseated, I feel the air under me.. ..somehow I stay with him.

From the corner of my eye, I see a fox dart across the trail.

Holding my breath then and now, heart pounding then and now…I feel how we kept running in sync along the darkening orange sunset, in the lengthening shadows….

Another magic watercolor memory whirls up…. soft silky blond hair, impossibly white teeth and soft skin, earnest eyes, holding up a branch. An embodied ache in my heart chakra.

“Mem, mama, mama…mem…see, Mom? Issa star… fell from the sky last night, Mama … see?”

Yes, baby I see….

…The years whirl away. I feel my middle-age body. Experience weighs my body down.

I’m an older woman, the mother to a young man.

You are six feet tall.

Where are my memories of this growth? They don’t line up neatly, to help me understand the mystery as a whole. Impressionistic fragments flit through my body….I hear far away sounds of laughter and leaves crinkling in the woods…

Who was that younger woman? Could she have been me?

I feel pieces of her younger body within mine. A slice of my many selves living within, integrated yet not…

I reach out to touch the tall pine tree, over my head, for grounding.

Yes, this is the one. This is the one we choose today.


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