Morning pages - For The Love of Our Boys.

Updated: Mar 27, 2019



For the Love of Our Boys - Motherhood


Today, tired mind, tired body. Quiet. Held.

Just still able to feel a slow trickle of the river running through.

Taking me.

Aliveness quietly.

Into emptying. Into letting go. Pulling me to move on.


But I can't. Or don't want to.

Love holding tight through the mind's defeat.

The mothers love that roars until it deafens and scratches at eyes and is prepared to tear limbs from the predators who whether they know or know not, are threatening the safety of my baby.


"Don't fucking touch him" I want to cry through the search for silence.

"Don't you dare kill his dance."

"You are stealing his spirit. You are eating him alive."


Of course, when my back was turned they trained him to believe he wants to be eaten.

Those who have already been consumed.

By the zombie apocalypse.


So I am still. I am quiet.

But today not free.


Breath almost stopped.

Body frozen.


Scared to let go and let God.


They don't see, they just do.

And I'm not being heard.

The sound of concrete and uniforms and celebrated sameness is louder than my cries.


Do I scream louder or find a greater stillness?

And if I am silent who speaks for the babies?

For my baby?

And for your baby?

And for the ones who are still yet to come?


Where is the allowing of actual, true, soul connected expression for our boys and our men?

Who are stopped in the tracks of aliveness.

And told to be still.

And silent.


Like the others.


But I can still feel the river flowing. Slowly. Quietly.


There is life here. There is breath.


And there is love.


And so we are well.


Just for today.