Letter to Mother

Mother,

This Journey has always been difficult between us. I feel we are in the last chapter or our 'book' and strongly feel the desire to heal the rift so it doesn't continue as negativity in the Universe long after you, I, or both of us have moved on from this world.

For a specific reason I was born to you and with our free wills we designed an experience I dont feel has been completed, or gives us credit for what we have the potential of creating.

My earthly heart hurts and craves nurtuting. My spiritual heart feels sorrow for you. My soul knows All will be well and IS well for time and space and lacking do not exist as we know it.

Yet, being in this earthly body, I wish to be free of the bondage of pain our relationship has created in me.

I could express to you what it is I desire from you, as you are the only Mother I will have in this life and therefor I have certain, unfortunately, unfullfilled expectations and yearnings. But I have learned from past experiences, my expression of such changes nothing for good, but adds to the discord.

I'm sure if we were to define the word 'Mother', we would both have answers that differ drastically. It is by my definition of 'Mother' that I try to live by with my children, and by doing so, am further reminded of the lacking of such that I have received. I then feel jealousy on behalf of my own children because they are recieving something I never did.

Which raises another question altogether; how did it come to be that I can give something which I myself have never recieved? It was through the lack - the voids - the emptiness, with which I recognized need to be filled. And thus, through time, I felt intuitively what I needed to be and do to fill these voids.

My children Love me. We dont always agree, but there is never a doubt of the Love and Respect we share for one another.

It is this space - this difference - between you and I that burns so deeply. I wish you were more like me in the ways that I am tender and nurturing and soft and loving.

I assume you also wish that I was more like you in various ways too. I used to want to be. You were so strong and fierce, independent and fearless.

I am all of those things. Those are the pieces of you I chose to take on. The pieces of you which I don't reflect are pieces I chose not to have, yet some pieces I have of you, I chose not, yet they are there, inside me. I feel, like a mysterious cancer, these foriegn pieces show the symptoms of thier presence, but not thier faces.

It is these 'cancers' that I struggle to be free of.


I keep feeling the need to call you on your faults. To shred your very being and bare you stark naked with your shame. But that doesn't feel Good. It feels strong, fierce and fearless, but cruel and hurtful also.

You already hurt enough Mother. You hurt so much you cannot bear it alone and therefor share your burden with others.

I recognize this. I wonder if you see you for Who You Are? Or if you only see yourself through the eyes of who you have become?

If I could Mother, I would relieve You of your pain, your burden. I'd carry it for you so you could feel the weightlessness and love and peace that come with freedom.

But I cannot. I must watch you suffer as we all do, under my own burden of pain.

So we walk the same dusty road carrying, at the very least, our lifetime of pain and suffering, but also those who have mindlessly shared their burdens with us, or those whose burdens we chose to carry for the sake of others. But the burdens cannot be transferred. They stay where they are, yet become seperate, multiplying in this way indefinitely, spreading themselves out over the unaware masses.

We all look at each other under our crushing burdens and see all of the unnecessary weight the other has and thus, we try to help by pointing out the things we ourselves would change about the others'. But we are all tired, and short tempered. We lash out with unchecked words at one another. Like the labor of childbearing, we all react differently. Some with anger, rage and shouting, some with steadfast silence, some yet whining and complaining, blaming, crying out for relief. But what we can't do is have our pain taken away. Sure, it can be numbed for a short time through various means, but the trauma stilll exists none the less.

So we ignorantly suffer. We suffer ourselves and we suffer for others as we feel the pain of watching others suffer.

But for what purpose? Who started this Trek? And Why?

It is Here now, that I Am. As I have stumbled and fell to the rough ground under my ever increasing load. Looks of pity, shame, and judgment fall upon me. Some refuse to look at all, as if my adversity is too much for thier awareness to bear.

I sit scuffed and bruised, sore and broken in the dirt amongst my burdens. My shoulders and back spent, my legs and arms useless from exhaustion. And it's no wonder. I had become a burden hoarder! For some reason feeling the more I carried proved how strong and independent I was. I was the first to take on another's burden, if given one I did not refuse it. I kept them all. They were mine.

But as I sit, mending my wounds and tending to the shock of the experience of failure, I question the cause of my calamity. Thus I begin to look at my burdens, strewn still, in the dirt. What are these things? This one, look, it is my boss' husband's leukemia. Why do I have it? And this, guilt and shame of naked forms. Surely this is not mine! But where did I get it? Who did I get it from?

So I continue sorting through my burdens. I begin to create piles; MINE, OTHER'S, UNNECESSARY, TRASH. Sorting is daunting, but refreshing. The clearing of the clutter can be overwhelming if tackled all at once but I am not again strong and must take rests between. It is during these times of rest that I glance about me and recognize the UNNECESSARY, and TRASH others are carrying. I dont take time to alert them, I've got enough of my own to focus on for now and have barely the strength for it.

I realize now, I must choose for myself, as we all do, what I WILL carry.

I am choosing not to carry your religion, Mother, in its crushing heavy bible. I am choosing to not carry your heavy hard hand of discipline. The first might be of use for someone else so I will place it in the UNNECESSARY pile, the second however, is useless as far as I can tell, so it goes into the trash. TRASH.

Now whose guilt is this? I recognize it but dont recall its origin. It appears to be quite used, I will have to ponder the origin - but wait - guilt doesn't serve a purpose - TRASH. And this shame? MINE or OTHER'S? It doesnt matter either way. TRASH.

But the thought has been occuring to me, of late, "What do I do with all of this?" I can't very well leave it, littering the road with my burdens. I must find the Place for recycling, lost and found, thrift store and dump. But for that I must set my independence aside in order to ask for help. My independence is my security. I cling to it like a child to a favorite stuffed toy, or blanket. A woman to her purse. Most anybody else for that matter, to their clothes that cover thier nakedness.

Do I sit with my piles and wait for a Guide, or do I go searching for one?

And this is where I am. Stripping away my independence, searching for a Guide.

And you Mother, continue on.

Good Luck and Best Wishes on Your Journey.

Daughter

[cazamac]

l have saved this cause a can relate to it so much with regards to my own relationship with my own mother and a carrie it about all my life but am still tryin to have a relationship with my mum and workin on it with councling x

What a beautiful letter.

I wrote a letter to my father, after his death.

I guess it was on my last visit with him that, emotionally wrought, crying, he said that all he wanted from life was to be at peace with himself. During life, he rejected me. The last time I ever talked to him was by cellphone, and when I asked him if he wanted my number he said, "Why? I have nothing to say to you." I hung up. Those were his very last words to me. From that moment forward, he was dead to me. And for many years prior to that I had tried very consciously to mend and rebuild a relationship with him. He simply would not allow it.

In my letter to him I said that he wanted peace. And that he had rejected me because I did not accept or live up to his standards. But now, look, old man. You never did find that peace. But I, who in your eyes am a failure, am the Victorious Warrior. I followed my own path and it led me to the Garden of Peace.

And that is the fact of life. Relationships between us parents and children are sometimes painful and broken, and that is just how it is.

I detested my mother. She was never a mother, not by my lights. The last time I ever saw her... She gave me a wonderful gift. It is called Forgiveness.

May I give you one word of "advice?" I am old and have been over the road you are traveling. You are still fighting with it all. Surrender. Let go. Walk softly.

And who cares what it is all for? It's a nice day and you are alive. Make some soapy water and a ring out of some old piece of wire and take the kids out on the grass and blow bubbles. That is what it is all for.

Your letter says it all. That feeling of lack because you havent got the mother that you are, the stength you have that also makes you tired of being the strong one, having the wisdom, the heart, the compassion and willingness to accept, try, change and forgive yet,,,, nothing in return. The jealous feelings and the resentment and the gulit that comes with the resentment. I've been there.

I am strong, i am a great mother, i am a pretty cool person because life made me this way. My GRATTITUDE towards my mother has been the answer. Thank you mum for showing ME how to be the change this world needs to see, for showing me sadness that in adversity is my buggest strength, i have compassion, love tolerance forgiveness, all the things id love to see in her. Again back to acceptance, i cant change people places or situations. All in all who am i to argue with the universe, all is perfect whole and complete in gods world.

It is sad, but today life is fab. xx

Thank you for your kind words.