Conversations with Mother


The mother holds me up to the mountains, let's down my hair. 
She asks me how it feels to be alive.
I tell her that it's quite strange, 
how one moment you can be choking on your own blood from rugged wounds,
but the next you're dazed by all of the energy drumming from the innermost chambers of the heart all the way to the tips of the toes.
I tell her that it's good to know what pain feels like, what true disturbance does to your soul.
And it's good to feel the overwhelming love and desire for dreaming and interacting.
I tell her that it's good to be human, to be alive. 
To see and to discover.
To reach and to lose.
To journey and to be wrecked.
She smiles, though I am oblivious to much, and we watch the sun creep away from our place. 
Interconnected wisdoms.


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