Stardust Mothers Through Space and Time
The base of a western red cedar tree rises up from the forest floor. Roots reach toward the front of the frame. Ferns and other plants surround the tree, and moss covers the bark.
What would it mean if we were all mothers to one another? The kind of mother that every one of us needs and deserves?
How would we be in the world, if we saw each other and ourselves as beings in need of care, support, kindness, clarity, guidance, sustenance? If we believed that any one of us could be the other’s mother, regardless of gender, age, or relationship? If we believed that we’ve all been each other’s mother, in one way or another, through the vast expanse of time (regardless of whether we have children or not)?
This idea of mothering has been so present in my heart and mind lately. Of course we’ve just celebrated Mother’s Day here in the US. But more than that, I’ve been watching the mothers around me, and all over the world. I’ve watched the way they offer care to their families and communities, and the way they grieve and cry out with sorrow at the harm done to them. I’ve felt the ever-evolving love and support of my own mother, and of the mothers in my family and community.
I’ve also held space recently for mothers seeking reconnection with their children; for dear ones grieving the death of their mother; for the joy and the exhaustion of mothering children and adults. I’ve been in community with mothers of all genders midwifing the world to come - attending to the birth pains and labor of a world that will care for all beings; that holds, honors, and encourages us to step into our rightful place and responsibilities.
And too, thanks to Perdita Finn and others, I’ve been thinking about deep time, and the possibilities that open up when we consider that we’ve all been here since the very beginning.
By this I mean, everything of us has been created from the material of the universe. We are, quite literally, made of stars.
Our bodies are made of the rain, mud, fires, creatures, plants, bacteria, viruses, soil, bones, stones, trees, fungi, seawater - all of everything that came before us, and all of everything that has fed us, since our time floating in fluid, until the time we breathe our last breath.
How could we ever believe that we are separate from one another? How could we forget that - even from a purely materialist, “scientific” perspective - all of us have existed since the very beginning, and have been in relationship with each other through the whole of time?
Too often we forget the long, twisting stories of beings emerging, nurturing and being nurtured by the numinous All, and then dying to become again.
This is, ultimately, our collective story.
And in this story so far, we’ve only allowed a materialist perspective into the frame. If we open that frame up, and perhaps play with the idea of an ever-returning soul, the sphere of our mothers and mothering expands to stretch into a matrix reaching across space and time.
From the stars and the dirt of which we’re made, and the possibility of a soul that never dies, I come back into this everyday life. Here, I hear us challenged to consider who gets to be a mother. I hear too the call to seize this moment, as mothers, to call for an end to the war on the people of Palestine, and an end to war everywhere.
I wonder how we would respond to pain, and to screams of despair and need and rage, if we believed we were, somehow, each others’ mother. Would we send in tanks and bombs, and cops with tasers and clubs to stop those screams? Or would we attend to what’s causing the hurt, and work to change the conditions that led to the rage and pain in the first place?
The forest, and the lands we live with and are fed by, can be our teachers and guides here (as always). When humans live in reciprocity with the land (not extracting and exploiting but receiving and giving with gratitude and humbleness), we see the best of what a mother’s love can be.
When we sit quietly, and pay close attention, we feel the earth holding and supporting us. We see the forest’s response to fierce winds crashing through, sometimes toppling branches and even trunks, and still - there is resilience in the connections and community, carefully woven above and below.
As mothers to each other, we too can face those fierce winds - every kind that threatens us - and bend our trunks to sway, even dance. We turn threats to possibilities, to movement. Our roots joined together hold us up, allow for this flexibility and expansion. We share our nourishment, our abundance, and care for each other as we’re able, through even the lean and hard times.
We Mother one another, on purpose or not. We can Mother with care and intention, or with neglect and disregard. My prayer is that we actively choose to Mother each other in the way the earth has cared for us all along, and that we each be Mothered in just the way we need.
