The Voice in the Vacuum

My current project involves a book on how to be present with people who are dying. It has been an amazing project for me because it has taught me a lot about how people use their voices and how we listen to each other.I can think of many times in my life when I have felt my voice going nowhere, being heard by no one. But I admit that I have sometimes been the one not listening. I have been the vacuum. Part of being human but not a very helpful part. I have had to sit on this one and ask myself important questions about my role as I communicate to others. I do know that sometimes my desperation or fear interferes with the ability for anyone to hear what I have to say...especially when I have said it over and over and over and over again. So I am learning to take responsibility for myself in this regard. More importantly, I am learning to listen. I don't want my inability to listen to be a perceived as a vacuum that sucks the life out of any of my relationships. Or sucks the air out of my dreams. Or sucks feelings of joy from my blessed life.

Nothing is created in a vacuum. Literally...Nothing. There is no air in a vacuum. There is no personal connection in a vacuum. There is no creativity. There is no intimacy. To vacuum pack something means to suck all the air out of something. It is a void. In the practical world, our vacuums clean up dirt or preserve our food. And sometimes a vacuum is necessary to give us time to clean up, regroup and reevaluate. It can protect us from the toxicity of dysfunction. But I do not want to live in a vacuum. I want to live with life in every way possible. I want to hear my friend's story, her heart, his dreams. I never want anyone in my life to feel irrelevant or meaningless because no one in my life lives within my heart in that way. Given the opportunity, listening may be the first and only lasting validation to the breaths we share here on planet earth.

When my sweet, dear father-in-law passed away nearly 5 years ago all he wanted to do was talk and be heard. He shared stories from his childhood that had never been told. He talked about so many things and passed along some important wisdom to me as the parent to his beloved grandchildren. He was genuinely happy in the last three months of his life. He was emotional, yes. But he was so authentic and genuine. I long for that experience from the people I love now. I don't want to wait until a life is at its end to listen. It is such a waste. The gifts we bring to each other fall to the wayside in a vacuum. They get bagged and thrown away. And when there is distance between their life's end and the life we continue living, it will be the memories and voices we shared that will keep my heart steady as I traverse the rapids and rivers of my life.

The Voice of Divine Mother

We are approaching the one day each year set aside to honor motherhood. Having been a mother since the age of 19, my ideas of what motherhood means to me has shifted and changed over the last 39 years. At first, I witnessed motherhood as this fiercely protective defender of the rights of my child. The standing joke was I owned them until they were 18. It was the same message our mom gave us. Now, I see my role as a mother to be something more akin to a singing bowl, or a the drum casing. As my children live their lives, I am learning (and it has not been an easy lesson) to receive them into this space. If my echo from my own life experiences help them, then it is a gift for both of us. If the song I sing somehow has no landing place I still sing it. But now I sing it with less expectations and truly more love and compassion.

As mothers we are taught to nurture and keep the family core together, even if it means doing so without a partner. Sometimes our sacrifices are viewed as selfish; other times as necessary by those we love. In my role, and by the example from my childhood, what I learned to do was keep my voice silent. Fear drove my actions and created misunderstandings that took time and patience to heal. What I can say, with all honesty, is that motherhood has been my greatest privilege and honor. It has not been a perfect performance, but I have done what I have done with deep and abiding love. As I have learned to let go, the voice of the Divine Mother gives me daily permission to speak what my heart tells me to be true. It still often comes from deep passion and fire, but at least I now can sing. Hopefully the fire is less hot and more warming to the souls I ushered into adulthood.

All cultures have a Divine Mother who represents the heart of all spiritual matters. To be a mother is a very Divine act, deeply spiritual. To drown out the voice of Divine Mother is to create a barrier between the very love we feel for our children and our own heart and intentions. It takes courage to be self-reflective, willing to ask for forgiveness, and facing the humbling fact we are not perfect. But, it also takes courage to ask for what we want of our children, to demand greatness from them and to help them see that all relationships (even the ones with our babies) eventually become adult relationships that involve both of us. I am blessed to have the most wonderful children any woman could hope for; I feel the same for the partners they share their life with. I appreciate their patience with me as I have unraveled what it means to me to be their mom. The voice of Divine Mother guides me, inspires me, and holds my hand when I am inclined down a road that does not serve my intention or my heart. Regardless of your faith, seek out the Divine Mother who can move your heart and actions. It will be your greatest Mother's Day gift of all time.