As the years come along I look at myself in the mirror and see my mama. Strange, my whole life everyone said I looked nothing like her, I was my father’s daughter. But today I see her grey hair, I see her scowling expression, I see her Jewish nose (a long story for another time), and seeing her in this way through my own eyes makes me very happy. She is no longer with me in this world- she lives in the moon and the stars and the wind, but today I saw her in the mirror and I cried.
As I stared at my reflection I remembered the shape of her mouth, her soft piercing baby blue eyes, the way they mischievously twinkled when she was up to no good. In the end she was blind and that nearly killed me-I can hardly breathe when I think about it, but her sight now lives on in me because I notice everything, and I’m often up to no good- just like her. And recently I noticed her in my son Kyle too- who gives a big rambunctious chuckle when his mischievousness prevails.
I remember a wise man saying that “your hands are your mothers hands” implying that you are one with all who came before you, and yes I think I know now what he meant.
My hands are my mothers hands, and my grandmothers hands and ultimately the Great Mother Devi’s hands. If you look at your hands long enough you will see it too.
As the Native American writer Linda Hogan penned,“ Walking, I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.”
So please never take your existence for granted because the universe has conspired, against quite considerable odds, to bring you here.
In one heart,
Gwen B
