The Rising of the Single Mother Goddess

Reaching back into my memory bin of a time before my shirt was stained with spit up and my breasts rested higher upon my sternum, I pull out collections of various times that have become unfamiliar. I enjoy reliving some of them, and others get tossed into the depths with hope that they will never return to me.  I have a fond attachment to the times when I would take three yoga classes scattered around my work day. The lifestyle had started changing me for the better. I was developing a sense of awareness and gratitude for the things most people take for granted. I had acquired a sense of community within myself, even if nobody else was around. And when others were near, we were fully brought together with the opening and closing sound of Ohm surrounding our joint practice and experience.  Fast forward to my life today, a little over a year later. My community is no longer petite girls in tight spandex pants with prayer beads wrapped delicately around their wrists. Instead, I ...

Forty four days ago, I felt the first clench from the fist of motherhood. Her grip was felt through my entire body. Forty three days ago, I danced a rhythmic tango with her anticipated discomfort. Forty two days ago, she showed me, by example, her vicious passion for new life that I would soon inherit. She forced my body to dive far into the depths of my instinctual existence, so that my conscious soul could depart and guide the new light into his physical being. Forty two days ago, I became a mother. Exactly forty two days have passed since I forgot every detail of my childless life. Like a wave from the ocean crashing into the sandy shore, sweeping away the first layer of tiny particles, but bringing with it a dozen dazzling seashells. Each shell containing a hundred more new particles to be dispersed and combined with the rest of the shore. I would never think to drain the ocean or cease the waves. I am far too entranced by my son every second of every day. I have no desire to g...