I had friends and coworkers calling constantly, wanting to come over and see me and meet the baby, and I would complain to my husband, Why on earth do they insist on coming over here? It's so rude! But I wouldn't dream of hurting their feelings with my honesty about how exhausted and ...
It is my hope that my daughter and I will continue to live in the present and choose love over resentment. This poem, Mother’s Heart, was written for my daughter, whom I love with every drop of my being.
Who is she, you ask? You are asking, aren't you?
She is the universal, primal Om, she is shanti, shanti, shanti,
she is the sound of life revealing, a mountain, a tree unfurling, an eagle soaring, an elephant roaring, as falseness crumbles at her feet.
Tainted by my own mess, I had just cause to feel numb, unsure and insolent toward life, and I kept trying to bleed a bit more into a vial that couldn’t be filled. It soon became evident that clinging to resentment was too hard, and my results were more than redundant, cold and tiresome.
Recently my husband re-connected with one of the loves of his life. He sat on the phone with her after years of forced silence, laughed, told her about his life. He glowed with a type of glow that I know only this woman can unleash. I never felt more happy for him. This is what a sacred love ...