Two Glasses……..

I stand under the moon, a bright glowing autumn orb just past her prime. Light streams around, and a blue of indescribable depth seems to glow as faint clouds drift across her face. I hold two glasses of wine, one for me and one for, well, I don’t really know.

Is it a glass for my mom, who I’m missing so much this week? I mark her death and in so many ways the death of who I once was. I see children lose their parents in one form or another frequently, and it seems compared to them I was old when she died. And, yet that’s not quite true. I was so unformed. I think I still am, but not like that. I was only 27. So many experiences I hadn’t even had yet. So many I’d never have, perhaps because of that moment when I told her I understood, that moment when I said, “I might leave God, but He’ll never leave me,” that moment when she wept and left me there alone in the hospital. I was still in graduate school. I wasn’t living what many would have considered an ‘adult life,” and I still don’t. I’ve never married, never borne a child, never known real security and safety, never known who I could really be. Her death freed me, too, though. The darker side of that story. Parts of myself I held in check because she would not have approved, she would have known, she would have been disappointed.

I toast the moon. Perhaps that glass is for the Feminine within the Divine. (Yes, I studied Jung a tad more than maybe I should have!! The dangers of this other side of the couch…) I’ve remained a Christian, but my perspective has broadened. It’s become so important to see that Feminine within God. It’s there, if you know to look. And, I’ve needed to look. I can’t quite understand the Divine as only “father.” That would have mortified my mother perhaps, but it’s the truth. My truth at least. “Father” is not associated in my head and heart with love or caregiving or even protection. It’s associated with estrangement, being cast adrift, not belonging, loss. As much as I associate with my father’s heritage, I remember him as large and imposing and frightening. I remember him as someone who demanded my love and affection, who expected me to remain the same over the course of years and years so that he could just pick up with me when he got around to it. By the time I was in junior high, that was about every 5 years or so. I think I loved him once. I have pictures of when he came back to me once as a child, pictures of me wearing pajamas he bought me, riding my trike with my beloved Panda he brought me, following him onto the roof as he made our patio. That little girl looks like she has a “daddy” and maybe loves him and needs him, or at least was willing to give this “daddy” who just came home a chance. Before I knew it, he was gone again. I was about four, and I remember the day. I remember nagging loneliness and this sense that something huge had changed forever in spite of what the adults might have said. It’s not just my resentment of my father that has caused me to seek the Feminine in the Divine. In order to know myself, in order to have a real connection, it has been necessary. I believe God is beyond the male/female dichotomy, but it is part of creation, especially human creation. In order to know myself, I must know God. In order to know God, I must recognize that God is beyond that distinction but includes it as well. I do believe Jesus was who he said he was and that he did what I’ve been told he did. However, he was more than merely human. Like all humans, he had both masculine and feminine traits, but he was something beyond that as well. Still, when God chose human form, he chose masculine form. He chose to come through the Feminine, but he came as a man. So, I borrow from my ancestors a bit and toast the moon, remembering that the Feminine is just as Divine as the Masculine and that both are a part of me.

I pour the second glass on the grass, offering a bit to the fey. I look about to make sure no one sees me. I worry that this might be a “sin,” but it seems right. I don’t know what else exists even right here on this planet, in this plane of existence, but I suspect it is way more than I’ll ever know. And, I’m already pretty sure there is a Pooka in the house, so why not just appease any fey that might be about. Perhaps that extra glass is for them.

Maybe that glass is for the sister I never knew, the older guide that left me, too.

I look back at the moon, two empty glasses as I finish mine. Empty. What a word. So often in my life I have felt empty. I felt longing and yearning, often for something intangible and unknown to me, even as a very young child. Empty. Room to fill. Life to live. I look back at the Goddess and smile. I walk into the cluttered maze of a house, knowing I don’t have to fill up all the emptiness. It will be filled in its own time, in its own way. I live with two empty glasses, a moon past her prime, and yearning. I move into the future through the door of the past.

Advertisements

~ by Janice Holladay on November 13, 2011.

2 Responses to “Two Glasses……..”

  1. You wrote: Parts of myself I held in check because she would not have approved, she would have known, she would have been disappointed. I hid so much of myself from my mom until the day she died. I knew I never met my parents’ standards growing up, and felt that I didn’t meet their standards as an adult. So I hid who I really was behind many, many walls. I was one person around my parents, another around my husband and kids, but never truly myself. It came to a point that I didn’t really know who I was, there was too much hiding. I revealed one or two things to my mom before she died. I so wish I had told her more, let her see the real me. She does now, there is no hiding from her. I know she’s come to visit and there is no hiding anything. But one thing I realized too late is that she loved me unconditionally and even if she didn’t completely “approve” of how I was leading my life, she still would have loved me. I understand that even more as a parent. I may not approve of what my kids do, although they are still young, but I could never stop loving them. ~Kathy

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: