She's still within waiting to be touched that she knows It's alive. Needing as much to feel the pulse, the life, the breath on the body of It, the hint that all along among the cries she lived. Waiting beside a stand-up, a hero, child-bearing woman, a wife, It always sat. Waiting in patience, only a whisper now and then to remind the world of It's presence, and that a new revolution was never out of the question. The new battle has more than two sides. There are lobbyists and diplomats and a mama back home sending care packages that withold the dream - That pulsing legacy that A Mother Is Still A Woman The woman within, waiting in patience, only a whisper now and then "The revolt is near, It's a new revolution, Wear a flower in your hair."
Everyday is a revolution, Uprooting everything I knew to be True just yesterday. And at least I know now to hold loosely to this day, as tomorrow will change me again. I am part of this revolution, every part. And yet I am just a part of this revolution. I do not own this one. It is not mine. This is a revolution of Grace, and not just Grace. It is God's and goddess' and my own Mom's. I am part and just a part of Life's Great Revolution. It brings days of fighting loudly, and loving deeply, crazy anger and angst, peaceful understanding, and Wisdom. "life's longing for itself" brings on the uprooting of our identities the outpouring of, of everything, everything we have understood before we gave life to the world. And in each day, with each sunrise, and even on grey winter days, The Revolution begins again. We begin again. As I hold loosely to Grace to my Self, poured out, I begin again today more at peace with my gods and goddesses, my mother, my child, and my Self. This is my revolution.
Peeling off layers like old paint over wallpaper behind the cabinets. Somewhere beneath motherhood and the part time jobs and betrayals and americanos, stands a body that does not need justification. She can lay naked relaxing comfortably in the Open. The tightness in her jaw releases the lined brow straightens the hips bruised by childbirth and toddler-bouncing come into Balance. Once more she finds a distant height unfamiliar now so that its new - the novelty of that is amusing exhilarating. Peeling off layers, finding hidden colors she just remembered are her favorite.
Mostly confidence a little audacity You wouldn't think it'd take that to make love to my husband. After a toddler and two years of opposing schedules it takes a little more than a single horny moment. We lost track of one another's sleep pattern: where once we woke together mid the night, making love through dreams, we now wake and wonder if we've ended up in the same bed. In the mornings, we'd have slept deeply enough to give another hour to each other's body. It's hard to believe when just this morning our toddler's learned to say "wake up papa, mama," climbing in as we grasp for one more moment of sleep. So it takes a little courage, after I've said goodnight and gone to bed, to reemerge without my winter robe in undies that tie on the sides that somehow survived the post maternity closet overhaul. Audacious to assume that my husband might have the energy, let alone desire, to rise from the couch, and meet me. And yet there we meet. Exhausted, yes. But hungry still, knowing that if we don't consume this moment, the sleep won't help anyway. Not tonight.