I Never Knew

       I once knew a woman whose hair grew long and free.  I would visit with her from time to time while she stared off into the distance, far past me.  Stories of was and when tumbled from her lips, but her words brought tears to my eyes because I never realized what I never knew.  I had never known that her small frame had once been beaten by fists of disgrace, her fair skin blemished with the scars of hate.  I loved to stare into the glistening pool of her eyes, never knowing that their depths had been dug by the fingers of despair.  I felt that she had accomplished much through her bravery and creativity, but I never knew that each day was a struggle of life and death, no's and maybe's.  A crushing weight sat upon her chest, but to me it looked as though she was laying upon the ground on purpose.  Her doll-like feet seemed to float above the blades of grass as she walked, but underneath were striped scars from the glass and the rocks.  Her breasts were humble, not hidden but not boasted, while underneath were the secreted burns of the branding iron.  I thought her perceptive, all knowing it seemed.  But the truth is that she was hyperaware, needing to always know her way to safety if danger began to scream.  Her body appeared to move seamlessly with the wind as she danced around the nights fire; I never knew that she was really dodging the hot sparks of desire.  The stars seemed to shine down upon the halo of her simple brow, the flowers and trees bending while she passed with an extravagant bow.  She told me of far away places and caverns and caves, beaches where century old soldiers unearthed graves.  She had witnessed the birth of the moon in all of its wondrous glory, and had sat in awe as the suns flames rose to chase the infant underground.  I watched as her fingers wove colorful lives together, magic and stars exploding instantly without sound.  In her passion and fury her words blew smoke and her eyes shone blue as day, red as night, and finally green as her breath began to slow.  Her scarred chest heaved up and down in time with the feathers that round her head wound.  When her tongue spoke no more, the stories were at an end, I looked up to beseech her to tell me more, "one more!" I implore.  I felt desperate, not knowing where we would go from here without her words to carry me through another afternoon of laughter and tears.  She held one palm away, allowing its  emptiness to blow away on the breeze of the past.  The other she put to her lips and whispered quietly into, her eyes closed in peace.  The flowers dancing under my toes were the only sound as I suddenly knew that I would have to go on.  I could still visit my muse occasionally, but I felt within myself the truth that was always there.  That I am her, and she is me.  I'm beautiful and lovely just as I thought of her, her journey was a path that I also traveled.  I can wear her flowered crown, pricking my own fingers and growing my own star-laced gown.  My own eyes shine with the galaxy and planets that align, my own womb bearing the pain of all who could have belonged.  I too am strong; I also have a tale to tell, and the words that flow from my fingers have the power to grow like cancer or shine like moonbeams.  I too can turn my scars into ribbons of grace and wear past injustices as a smile upon my face.  I also harbor magic in the palms of my heart and, if I so choose, can toss my glittered sorrow to spot the sky as stars in the night.

Moon Goddess painting by Karen Ferrand Carroll

Shall We Dance?

       I have two children, both boys, and they bless me every day.  They are my world, my existence, my love place.  After the birth of my second son I found that quite a few people were asking me if I was going to have another.  "I just had this one," I would think, but I found myself answering that maybe we would try for a girl.  I did want a little girl, but as I conversed with my husband about conceiving another child, he got my mind to wondering.  He spoke very logically about money and time and sleep, and I was disappointed.  But why was I sad about not having another child?  I was already not sleeping at night and we were both stretched beyond the limit to give them the attention and support that they desired.  Then I started to feel guilty about my longing for another child.  It really wasn't fair to the baby that I just had to immediately have another one, because then he wouldn't ever have the one-on-one with mommy time that I desperately wanted to lavish upon him.  So WHY did I feel the need to have a little girl?  Letting myself sit in that question for a while, I allowed the answers to float around in my brain until I could reach up and grab the true one.  Because I wanted a miniature me, because I wanted to see what I would look like as a little girl, because I wanted to raise a little girl to breathe fire, because I wanted to instill the strength and confidence into a little person that I never had as a child, because I wanted to protect a little girl...because I wanted to protect MY little girl.  That was it!  I had my innocence snatched away at such a young age that I was never able to truly BE a little girl.  Well, that was indeed a purely selfish reason to have another child.  So now what?  I had to find my inner child.  I had to remember who I was before bad things happened in my life.  I had to remember what it was like to feel free.  But I needed a little help remembering.  Have you ever just sat and watched your children?  Like, REALLY watched?  Aren't they little gods?  The young ones, the ones who haven't been damaged by other people yet.  The ones who are still just themselves.  They are perfect, beautiful, and pure.  They wake up when they're ready to wake up, and sleep when they're ready to sleep, and eat when they're ready to eat.  They cry when their little feelings are hurt, they squeal with excitement at the smallest of delights, and they scream in anguish when they are frightened.  They wallow on the floor and eat dirt and splash in the mud.  They strip down naked and run around laughing at the pleasure that they feel as the wind whips around their bare butts.  They laugh without restraint and dance to music that isn't there.  They don't care about rules or manners, or anything that we think they should care about.  They care about how they feel and they long to explore the world around them.  Everything is new and magical to them.  Magic!  That's definitely it.  Children believe in things that we are taught can't exist, and they're happy with that.  Children don't know why the rain falls, nor do they care.  They only want to run and play in the puddles that collect in the street.  They don't care about the mess they're making, they care about the fun that they're having along the way.  As adults it isn't always feasible to strip down and roll in the dirt, but there comes a time when we have to remember who we were.  Only then can we heal from trauma and pain that happened along the way to adulthood.  We have to go back, back to a time when we were innocent and free and unconfined.  We have to learn not to care about other people's opinions of us once more.  We have to remember how to believe in magic and how to dance in the rain when the only music playing is in our hearts.
What's your child dancing to?