She is everywhere and in everything

Motherhood

motherless

mother country

mother earth

mother’s day

mother-in-law

motherland

motherly

mother-of-pearl

mother tongue

Mother

soft breast of my mother

children go their lonely way

watching out for a loving bird

nest

bird fly over the clouds 

where home is not

fly through happiness 

love body

milk

white milk

licked by the cat’s tongue

red little tongue caresses my body 

over and over 

caressing our bodies 

our freedom

a dead dragonfly lies on the road

accusations start

you stepped on it! 

no you! 

not me! 

yes you! 

no - You Mami! 

YOU MAMI STAMPED ON IT! 

to have peace I concede

yes it was me

Mothers

my own mother

between hate and love 

or yearning and love? 

will it be the same with my girls? 

separation

my wedding finger is throbbing

the little one is crying in her sleep

it’s midnight

what might it be? 

she was in pain

throwing her body about

and 

now settled again

she is so much more able to say what is wrong

what she needs

I am too

Healing

Landscape
finding my place within it
around it and be it
my tears and heart - moving
turning towards and holding
it's ok, it will be fine
a long time - coming


sticks and stones
not so random anymore
but placed and held
and appreciated and
transitory, but into a different
order and shape
to suit the mood
to suit the need
the need to be seen and heard
a place in the heart of - World


Mother and baby
breathing together
in unison
subtly aligning - re-aligning
to what needs to be
you are me and I am you
for together we create
a world that understands
and seeks and accepts
that love is the ground


I left a stone for a friend
who moves my heart
the stone is old
smooth-edged-round 
by the comings and goings of the tides
the tail-end of a word
engraved in old letters
END - at the edge - so that we may begin

Nurturing attachment

My son is almost a year old. His needs at the moment are almost that of a newborn. He wants to feed regularly, at night it's again down to every two hours, and he wants to be held and be physically close, particularly at night. In the day he goes crazy exploring and cruises around like no tomorrow. I can hardly keep up. And then back to the breast, back to the cuddles. It's exhausting, but it's got to be done. Many voices there are who say a lot to the contrary. I find this confusing and puzzling. I am amazed at how strong these voices are that decry closeness and champion independence. Maybe I see it, hear it everywhere because I am aware that some of these voices are also inside of me. 


I've noticed that the voices about independence start pitching up at around two months, but definitely at around three months of a baby's life. This seems to be the acceptable cut off point of continuously being at the mercy of the baby. The things I have been told or have heard: Don't cuddle too much, for too long, otherwise he will get used to it and will eat you up. Don't ever make the  mistake of taking the baby into your bed, you will never get them out again. He will grow up mother fixated! At this age he should not be wanting so many feeds, he should be sleeping through now. Wouldn't a bottle be better? For you, easier? It's all that sling carrying you did, he got used to it now. It's the breastfeeding, it makes them dependant. It doesn't harm the baby to be left crying a little (what's a little I wonder). Do you leave the baby alone at home while you go to get the girls from school? He has to learn to be on his own too and not always be wanting mother. 


But see I say, I think, the little one was born with the need for closeness and physical contact. Nothing else but mother will do. No dummy, no bottle. Mamma. And why should it not be like that? Who benefits from it not being like that? Why do we in this society value independence so highly? What's wrong with me committing to nurturing that attachment to that child as long as that child needs it? Believe me, sometimes I would rather sit down and have a cup of tea and read a magazine. Or go for a snooze, on my own. Or do some gardening. This attachment business does not come easily to me. And I don't always do it with a smile. I can be rather grumpy about it sometimes. But the commitment is there, because I believe in its importance. 


I believe that for the first few years, the infant needs to have that secure base to which they can come back to again and again (it is often one step forward and ten steps back) until they have a more solid footing in the world out there. I want to give that to my child. Because this child is the future. This child will have an impact on the world so I want to do a good job because I care about the world. And my commitment and the belief in it is not theoretical. It's real. With my twin girls the attachment was far more patchy and difficult because of their prematurity and them being twins. I worried many times that because of our circumstances I had not been able to give enough to them. It turned out that my worries were unfounded. I believe it's the commitment that was crucial in our relating. They always knew and still do that I am there for them, however grumpy. 


And with my son, him and me having the luxury of time and no competition of another baby, the work that goes into nurturing that attachment shines through every day in the form of smiles and laughters and cuddles he gives to me. In the way he is completely sure in his knowledge that I am looking after him and making sure he is safe (when he crawls up those dangerous concrete stairs and grins back at me!). It glimmers in his eyes. And he not only graces me with his glimmer, others get it too. So I shall continue with my commitment of giving, of nurturing - for this attachment is the basis for Love to oneself, and Love to an other. It's a lived experience on a daily basis. 

What is Love?

It is maybe naive of me to think I can tackle this big question in a few sentences in a blog. But it is at the heart of my preoccupations, motherly, and otherwise, so I will. I know many have pondered and will continue pondering on this question - many would probably agree there is a self-lessness component to it. If I love in order to get something then it is not the kind of Love I am thinking about. Yet it is the most common and so human way of loving. We mostly do things for selfish reasons. But we can rise above it too, and experience those rare glimpses of true Love where the light shines and the jewel of our being is revealed. 

I was once in a tram in Zurich, many years ago, feeling quite down and forlorn. I was looking out of the window as the tram was pulling into Stauffacher station. Suddenly something quite inexplicable happened. A man of Asian origin stood on the pavement looking directly into my eyes. It was as if he had been waiting for me. He simply raised his arm and waived at me. Maybe an ordinary scene, maybe a case of mistaken identity. But what happened to me was far from the ordinary, nor could it have been a mistake. His presence evoked in me what I can only describe as an awakening of Love. It felt as if this man knew me through and through. It was as if this man Loved me despite my failings, a Love that was far bigger and enveloping than any love I had experienced in this earthly existence, ever. I felt small, like a child, but utterly safe as if held in the cupped hand of the big Mother. Time was momentarily suspended and expanded at the same time. As I snapped out of it, turning around looking for the man to no avail, I was left with immeasurable joy and happiness that lasted for some time. 

Now what was that?? Over the years I have been lucky to experience something similar a few more times, and these experiences have galvanized me into the journey of becoming. These rare glimpses of true Love are about me not feeling smaller than you or you feeling smaller than me. It is the meeting point of souls, where there is no separation between you and me, we are brothers and sisters. So often I find myself disappointed in myself when I become aware of a lost opportunity for true Love where the pettiness of the me has moved centre stage yet again. Alas I am human. And of course I can't will such moments, I can't actually do it. There is a secret and a subtleness to the awakening of these moments of Love. I am working on staying awake. Will you join me?

The Good and Evil Mother

The other day, in a professional capacity, I was asked to consider the possible dynamics between social workers and mothers whose children have been taken away from them. You'll have to excuse me but I got quite emotional on the subject and the claws of the tigress threatened to strike. For imagining that my children could be taken away from me by the state sent chills down my spine. 


But it was also the views of other professional woman (all of them childless) that made me tremble, such as: A mother who truly loves her children could not harm them.  Maternal love is a natural instinct born when the child is born. If a mother does horrific things to her children and the children are taken away from her she is not worthy of any help and support and all contact  between her and her children should stop.  What all of these statements have in common I think is that mothers can be divided between Good Mothers and Evil Mothers. 


I want to scream at this grossly wrong perception. The best advice one of my friends gave me when I was first pregnant was; "If you feel like throwing your child out of the window don't be alarmed. It's normal to feel like that from time to time. It doesn't mean you are a bad mother".  Now of course there is a difference between feeling that way and actually doing what you are feeling but the line is fine and if support is thin then the road to losing control is not far off. I say; invest in research and support of womens' healths; restore pride and empowerment in the birthing process and make excellent women-centred maternity services a priority;  get men and dads more involved; give more and better maternity and paternity leave; support mothers/families all the way through to when the children leave home; educate new mothers, the wider world, what challenging job it is to bring up children and honour it for what it is - an amazingly important and difficult job. For the child will carry what she has learned into the world. 


Therefore we all have a responsibility, not just mothers!, because the little world has an impact on the big world. And a child is a gift. But we can only see the gift if we feel that we are a gift too and feel that we are honoured and cherished by society. And no one can love better than a mother. YES. No one can love better than a mother because she has carried that child, she has given birth to that child, and no matter how far she has slipped down the path of chaos and disconnection, deep down buried in her depths, she still loves that child the best. She may not be the best person to CARE for that child. But that love is the love the child deep down wants no matter how bad things have gotten. For a child their mother, their father, is God. There is no one else than God. That's why it is so terribly terribly painful when the parent does not give good enough parenting. And as a society we have the duty to meet that pain and to repair wherever we can. And to support before it comes to the point where a child is torn from her mother, where a mother is torn away from her child. 

The experience of misscarriage

Three years ago, in the blossom of Spring, my other little boy-to-be died. If he had lived, he would now be two and a half years old. He would be running after his sisters and no doubt, would be creating mischief with our neighbour's boy, who alas, at the moment is the only boy amongst the wild crowd of girls. And I don't know if our now-oh-so-fully present baby boy would have ever come to us had the first one not died. 

Here is what I wrote to Valentin three months after he ceased to be. 


My dear Valentin


I hold you close to me, close to my belly, close to my heart. I hug you and hold you – I don’t want to let you go. It’s now three months and nine days since you have left my body. My body is still expectant, a hollow cave, empty and confused – what role am I to play now that you are gone? I am lost for words.

You were such a delicate and beautiful creature, fully formed yet still very small, almost the size of my hand. You couldn’t live without me. What is that bond between you and me? How is it that one creature is so dependant on the nourishment of an other?  What nourishment did you give me?

Carrying you was a special time. I felt connected to the world, as if the umbilical cord that connected us was also connecting us to the universe. We were larger than life, as we know it. The miracle of growth within me in preparation of the world is a gift to carry.

Your conception was a special time. It was a creative time. You coincided with me allowing my creativity to reach others – to be seen and to be heard – together with your father. We were creative together, and you were created in the process. One day before my birthday. You were my creativity baby.

You responded to me calling you. From day one your presence was so powerful, other people sensed your miniscule existence. Whenever I put my sacred music on you fluttered, as if in recognition. When I started bleeding and called you you came swimming towards me saying ‘it’s ok, I’m here, I’m ok’.

And when it was time to let go, to surrender as your daddy said, I said to you “it’s ok, we can stop the battle now, it’s ok you can go now”. And you did. You slipped out of me, effortlessly. You even took a last breath and then you smiled. 

Despite your size and tender age you were such an individual already, so uniquely you. And there was something about you that we recognized. You were at peace, you looked as if you had fallen from the sky into a deep deep sleep. You were beautiful. And you looked like your daddy looks when he sleeps.

What have I lost? Why does it hurt so much? What hurts so much? The loss of a creation? The loss of being heard and seen? The invisibility of pain? The emptiness? The loneliness? Through you I felt connected -  I was connected. Without you, with the separation of the baby from the womb………

I struggle to be.

I struggle to meet.

I struggle.

It is Life on Earth.

Treading the path of change

I am going crazy. I am struggling with anger, fury, desperation, exhaustion, fear, and jittering anxiety. I am thinking, ten million times over, I can't do this anymore and my suffering increases.  With every negative thought and attachment I feel more anxious and gloomy. Endless sleepless nights have been turning me into a monster and my bed has become a place where I am tortured out of my slumber with only one thought in my head - sleep baby sleep, please baby sleep, I NEED SLEEP! Oh how this process beats down my ego, my resistance, my illusions, my desire to be on top of things, organized, in control and calm and breezy. But alas, the part in me that wants to hang onto the state of no change and be in control is surprisingly tenacious....This state of affairs, made worse my raging premenstrual hormones,  was the prime thing that worried me when I was pregnant, how will I cope this time round with this monstrous process of sleeplessness, of being required all round when I am overtired? And whenever I feel I am on the floor the twin girls seem to want even more of me. There is much to learn. The challenge, and I know, the only salvation is staying in the moment. I also know that I am in the tunnel at the moment, the light at the end is glimmering, but very faintly, and it's not only a process to be overcome and then next! but a true path of change. I know it. I am treading on this path and I will reach another plane of consciousness of motherhood, of mothering, of taking care and LOVE. Not just for my children, my partner, my fellow human beings but most importantly for myself. The true seed of the anger lies herein. The absence of mothering towards myself. The harsh judgment and the expectation for perfection. Let the gentle hand, the caress and the soothing words come my way too, brush away my bruises and appease the fury, the sadness, and the pain. For I am baby, I am child, I am daughter, as much as my children are. And unless I learn to be as gentle towards myself as I am most of the times, as humanly possible, towards my children, I will not be at peace. May the Gods help me.