Letters for my Mother Julianne Marie

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Where my butterfly heart flutters, 

trying to fly back to the Meadow 

back to your wide open arms, your Love, your smell, 

Bread baking, cabbage rolls, birthday candles and endless cups of Tea with honey,

your Twinkling eyes in my minds eye,

remembering your words to your own mother 

"I want her back the way she was" 

stomping my childish almost-53-year old Feet

to command the Universe to do as I will

And hearing no answer, giving it over Again. and Again. and Again. 

and Again.

whatever it means Today, because yesterday is gone and only my memories remain

yours lost, wandering, down those pale green hallways 

Here I sit, trying to be all spiritual and such 

Looking for the little miracles today

Up late thinking of creation
something new to fill in the gaps of something dying
bit by bit
of my mother's face, dimming
with each video call

That only two weeks ago we shared the conspiracy
in laughing at the inside joke
loving each other simply by being

 

The Water Walker

From the Facebook Post of Grandmother Sharon Day:


For Josephine Mandamin on behalf of water walkers

Ogima Ogitchidagkwe
M’dewanikwe
Ogima Ogitchidagkwe
M’dewanikwe
The nibi found in you
A true warrior
Ingah izitchigay nibi ohnjay
I will do it for the water
Ogima Ogitchidagkwe
M’dewanikwe
You are my hero

Listen to the nibi
She speaks if we will only listen
Swirling round and round
Waves breaking onto shore
She speaks if we will only listen
As she’s moving on downstream
She sings to us in wintertime
ice breaks on the frozen stream
Listen to the nibi
She speaks if we will only listen

Ogima Ogitchidagkwe
M’dewanikwe
Ogima Ogitchidagkwe
M’dewanikwe
We’ve learned so much from you
Of love and fierce devotion too
giiBimosaayan nibi ohnjay
we walked for the water
Ogima Ogitchidagkwe
M’dewanikwe Bidasigaye
You are my hero

SDay 2/22/19

Reflections on Grief

“In the Lakota/Sioux tradition, a person who is grieving is considered most wakan, most holy. There's a sense that when someone is struck by the sudden lightning of loss, he or she stands on the threshold of the spirit world. The prayers of those who grieve are considered especially strong, and it is proper to ask them for their help.

You might recall what it's like to be with someone who has grieved deeply. The person has no layer of protection, nothing left to defend. The mystery is looking out through that person's eyes. For the time being, he or she has accepted the reality of loss and has stopped clinging to the past or grasping at the future. In the groundless openness of sorrow, there is a wholeness of presence and a deep natural wisdom.” - Tara Brach, True Refuge: Finding Peace and Freedom in Your Own Awakened Heart

Image Source: Facebook

Mothers Day

I'm feeling the weight of Mothers Day today. The weight doesn't come from my mother, it comes from within me as a recovering Addict and alcoholic because in my active addiction I often chose drinking or using over the needs of my three children.

I live my amends for that every day but no day more than Mothers Day.

When my children were small, Mothers Day was mostly their Dad's responsibility: to get a card, or make and help deliver an interesting breakfast in bed, get something from the store, or wrap a special schoolmade item for my special day. I adored those times: everyone giggling and snuggling together in bed and talking over each other, telling me which breakfast item they Made or which handicraft was their Creation. Life wasn't always perfect, their father and I were not a good match but the kids were resilient and happy for the most part.

After the divorce my lifelong struggles with addiction worsened and my disease began whispering that surely my children were old enough (at 11, 14 and 17) to be left alone together while I lived the single, party-girl life. When my sons both decided to live with their father full-time, the addicted part of my brain consoled me again, drowning painful reality by checking me out of my life almost completely.

I left town for 6 months, justifying abandoning my youngest to live with her father full-time with the argument that I needed "space" to get my head together. I sold my house and blew the small profits I did make on more drugs and alcohol and constant "road trips".  I renamed myself with a brief-lived childhood nickname and became "Mickie" tied to a fantasy of a musician-hippie-bohemian lifestyle my 'addict' brain told me I could pull off at age 41.

That was the year I missed Mothers Day for the first time. The awkward Skype promises-apologies-repeat rhythm of those conversations still haunt me, filling me a guilt that is difficult to shake. What kind of mother did that make me?

It took me three more years to start answering that question.  I missed another Mothers Day #2 while in treatment for chemical dependancy. I remained in the grips of baffling, powerful and cunning disease. I was a mother who had no idea how to live life on life's terms, who had been running for so long I was full of fear about how to be clean and sober.  A mother who hadn't been consistently clean or sober for decades, except (barely) through most of her pregnancies.

After treatment, counselling, 12 Step meetings, thousands of conversations with fellow addicts in recovery, years of indigenous ceremonies and hard soul searching work I am coming to the realization that no amount of time that passes will erase the past. I am still working on forgiving myself for Mickie's mistakes and assumptions.

What kind of mother does that make me?  I think that makes me like alot of moms out there, not perfect, doing the best they can with what they have.  ❤ Michelle

started in May 2018
finished December 8 2018

 

Brigit Anna McNeill

November 25 at 7:32 AM

We are approaching the threshold of winter.

Life is being drawn into the earth, painlessly descending down into the very heart of herself. 

And we as natural human animals are being called to do the same, the pull to descend into our bodies, into sleep, darkness and the depths of our own inner caves continually tugging at our marrow. 

But many find the descent into their own body a scary thing indeed, fearing the unmet emotions and past events that they have stored in the dark caves inside themselves, not wanting to face what they have so carefully and unkindly avoided. 

This winter solstice time is no longer celebrated as it once was, with the understanding that this period of descent into our own darkness was so necessary in order to find our light. That true freedom comes from accepting with forgiveness and love what we have been through and vanquishing the hold it has on us, bringing the golden treasure back from the cave of our darker depths.

This is a time of rest and deep reflection, a time to wipe the slate clean as it were and clear out the old so you can walk into spring feeling ready to grow and skip without a dusty mountain on your back & chains around your ankles tied to the caves in your soul. 

A time for the medicine of story, of fire, of nourishment and love.

A period of reconnecting, relearning & reclaiming of what this time means brings winter back to a time of kindness, love, rebirth, peace and unburdening instead of a time of dread, fear, depression and avoidance.
This modern culture teaches avoidance at a max at this time; alcohol, lights, shopping, overworking, over spending, bad food and consumerism. 

And yet the natural tug to go inwards as nearly all creatures are doing is strong and people are left feeling as if there is something wrong with them, that winter is cruel and leaves them feeling abandoned and afraid. Whereas in actual fact winter is so kind, yes she points us in her quiet soft way towards our inner self, towards the darkness and potential death of what we were, but this journey if held with care is essential.

She is like a strong teacher that asks you to awaken your inner loving elder or therapist, holding yourself with awareness of forgiveness and allowing yourself to grieve, to cry, rage, laugh, & face what we need to face in order to be freed from the jagged bonds we wrapped around our hearts, in order to reach a place of healing & light without going into overwhelm. 

Winter takes away the distractions, the noise and presents us with the perfect time to rest and withdraw into a womb like love, bringing fire & light to our hearth.

•illustration by Jessica Boehman•
•words Brigit Anna McNeill•

Words from the earth

reciprocity floats up to me from paper pages and down from the Sun

From the Polish East and the traditional territories of the Semiahmoo and Qayqayt 

Land-ing and sowing Seeds that grow in my Gifts

by touching the earth, I continue