My mother was never a safe home for me or my brothers. We survived, damaged and at odds with one another. I think you're right, that the more expansive our sense of home, the more at peace we are. For me, it's letting go of my childhood home to embrace my community, my own family, my new granddaughter.
Kate, I wonder sometimes if lineage is blood or if lineage can also be the family we choose, as in community. Cheers to your new granddaughter and biggest of hugs.
I am so lucky to have raised my son as a single mom, escaping the repeated patterns of abuse from childhood in that marriage. My son is a wonderful man and new father. Breaking those chains of lineage was the most important work of my life. XO
Stephanie, your words are incredibly moving this afternoon, they're like a treasure map of memory, longing and the search for belonging. I love how you connect the threads of ancestral stories to the universal journey of coming home, not just to a place, but to ourselves. Thank you so much for sharing such a heartfelt reflection that resonates deeply with my heart and soul.
A few years ago I remember writing a prose poem in homage to Ram Dass, only me being me, I titled mine, "Leap Frogging Each Other Home."
Deborah, your title to the homage to Ram Dass is absolutely perfect. And I think he would laugh and nod upon hearing it! Sending big hugs and thank you so much for your readership.
When I was six, I leap frogged my way through playtime, my body bursting with joy and boundless energy. Friend’s backs were the hills and peaks over which I sprang, allowing my spirit to soar upwards, high into the blue. Leap frog; a game of mutual cooperation, of learning how to take your turn, as bodies bow with hands on knees whilst another’s soul leaps high!
Approaching sixty, my body is much slower yet balanced and whole. As I look within, moving the game from grass to grace, I reflect on how each body houses a radiant soul that shines like a beacon on dark nights. In the transient clothes of my body, I seek out other players, those like-minded souls, eternal beings, who know we are all just leap frogging each other home.
✨✨✨
Yes, I hear Ram laughing too! I hope you enjoy my little homage, Stephanie. Thank you so much for ordering "Croneology: Poetic Reflections on the Crone". This poem sleeps and dreams in my third book "Soror Mystica: Balancing the Divine Feminine and Divine Masculine", page 116.
Oh my gosh! What a tender and vulnerable look at your mother and the perils you both faced! That you can see her as that child on her brown horse in the valley in Poland before life took her to those places she dreamed of going and also brought hardship and heartbreak is such a gift. And such a wonderful insight into your own wanderings and the longing to find home with the sunlight and forested paths to explore. (I think that longing for where we belong on this earth is an expression of our terraphilia.) And your gorgeous exercise of standing in the sun imagining one's matrilineal line is simply brilliant. Thank you for being you, Stephanie, and sharing your insights and gifts. Blessings and a hug!
It’s nice you had a bond with your Morher. However tenuous I hear her life still holding you.
My mother decided her two middle daughters of four needed her. When she thought she was about to die I asked her my aching questions. Mainly why did she never say the words “I love you” or “I’m proud of you” or “ I believe in you” to me.
Her answer was How could we not love you? You were always our favorite.
I was shocked and just done. I was the active, smart, fun, attractive fourth daughter and always felt I was in the way.
Then my mother said, “Your sisters needed me and you didn’t. “
Every child needs to hear I love you. And feel special in some way.
I remember hugging her robotically as I left for the airport. She lived another 10 years and we never spoke again. It may seem sad but her words released me from trying to win her love and attention.
I believe she did as best she could with her own inadequate upbringing.
I’m thankful for my adult children. We just do as best we can with each day.
I find that mother daughter relationships are especially complicated -- whether we got what we needed or didn't, the relationship remains as one of life's most important. You grew into a grateful, loving mom, so it seems to me that you did more than just your best. Biggest of hugs.
John O'Donohue wrote that one of the most precious gifts of growing old is our "treasure house of memory" and you illustrated this rather powerfully. I love how your mother's sweetest memories were infused into your own. Thank you for writing this Stephanie. Home is timeless, the past and present. We forget how much we need it, don't we?
Here on the island, Ram Dass's "walking each other home" remains the mantra. The sense of belonging and the ties of "family" run deep, though we are far from our homes of origin. I love the picture you've painted of your mother, her life, her struggles, and her dreams, and yours as well, Stephanie. My mom and I were besties, lucky for me, and my maternal grandmother was a good one. You make me want to delve into my lineage and see who's standing behind her. Our "now" is only because of our heritage and all who have come before us. What a lovely party it would be if we could all get together to share our stories.
Dear, sweet, friend, THIS: "Our "now" is only because of our heritage and all who have come before us. " May you and I always share our stories and thereby know the stories of others. Much love.
My mother grew up in Mississippi on a farm. She told me stories of getting up at 5 am to milk cows. She was sheltered from the violence and racial tensions on that farm. To hear her speak of it, it was Eden. When she first moved north with my father, she was more embarrassed by her roots. She got rid of her accent. We'd visit Mississippi to see relatives, but she didn't speak of it much when we were home in NJ. But when she got old and her body started betraying her, she longed for home. For the last 15 years of her life, she and my father lived in a mobile home just a few miles from the house Mom grew up in. They went to her childhood church. She wanted to be home, to grow old among "her people." It was hard for us to understand, especially since she moved so faraway from us. It was impractical, too, because they lived in the country, away from medical resources. In the end, she spent just the last six months away from her home before Dad died, then her.
What a beautiful and poignant story from the past. We may not understand our parents or grandparents choices in life, yet we are still connected to them and their version of longing.
What a lovely essay about the longing to belong. I have considered and written about the concept of home (multiple essays here on Substack) for most of my adult life. Chaos and dysfunction in my childhood drove my desire to create a safe and secure sense of home.
I am now torn about leaving my rural mountain homestead, where I have lived the longest because aging here would not be the wisest choice. More recently, I have been considering relocating to another country. It's consuming my emotional energy.
The whole idea of a move is daunting at this stage of life. I'm wanting the upcoming one to be my last -- and like you I have the consideration of being more centrally located to medical, grocery, etcetera, and in a one level home, please. Sending you love and goodwill, with many hopes that your relocation is easeful.
I just cleaned up a garden planted with starts from my mother’s garden and bordered by large rocks that my mother collected. She passed in 2007. This is a beautiful memorial to her long and strong life!!
This is wonderful. Thank you. I've always loved the idea of our ancestors being with us powerfully, but felt myself exempt somehow. I didn't have any sunlight, and i don't know about most of my ancestors, i'm not sure they were admirable... but this gave me a way into that awareness. Not being alone...
Thank you for the exercise of standing in the sun with arms outstretched while imagining my mom, grandmother, aunt, and so many others who helped me grow into myself today.
Your humble opinion means a great deal to me, Lynn. Thank you for reading and for taking the time to comment. Sending a big smile and thank-you, your way.
Like a little girl, anticipating a gift, I always anticipate a comment from you, a true kindred spirit who has been weaving with me throughout the ages. Somehow your tapestry overlaps mine, and brings me comfort that I have friends on the journey. May our threads, the spinning and the weaving continue to connect us. You are in my heart. Thank you for being here.
My mother was never a safe home for me or my brothers. We survived, damaged and at odds with one another. I think you're right, that the more expansive our sense of home, the more at peace we are. For me, it's letting go of my childhood home to embrace my community, my own family, my new granddaughter.
Kate, I wonder sometimes if lineage is blood or if lineage can also be the family we choose, as in community. Cheers to your new granddaughter and biggest of hugs.
I am so lucky to have raised my son as a single mom, escaping the repeated patterns of abuse from childhood in that marriage. My son is a wonderful man and new father. Breaking those chains of lineage was the most important work of my life. XO
I like your idea of standing in the sun ☀️ with arms outstretched, imagining other mothers.
Thank you. It’s a sweet, meditative exercise in remembering.
Stephanie, your words are incredibly moving this afternoon, they're like a treasure map of memory, longing and the search for belonging. I love how you connect the threads of ancestral stories to the universal journey of coming home, not just to a place, but to ourselves. Thank you so much for sharing such a heartfelt reflection that resonates deeply with my heart and soul.
A few years ago I remember writing a prose poem in homage to Ram Dass, only me being me, I titled mine, "Leap Frogging Each Other Home."
PS- I cannot wait for your book of poetry to arrive. I ordered it a few days ago.
Oh happy days my dear friend, happy days! ✨🙏✨
Deborah, your title to the homage to Ram Dass is absolutely perfect. And I think he would laugh and nod upon hearing it! Sending big hugs and thank you so much for your readership.
Leap Frogging Each Other Home
When I was six, I leap frogged my way through playtime, my body bursting with joy and boundless energy. Friend’s backs were the hills and peaks over which I sprang, allowing my spirit to soar upwards, high into the blue. Leap frog; a game of mutual cooperation, of learning how to take your turn, as bodies bow with hands on knees whilst another’s soul leaps high!
Approaching sixty, my body is much slower yet balanced and whole. As I look within, moving the game from grass to grace, I reflect on how each body houses a radiant soul that shines like a beacon on dark nights. In the transient clothes of my body, I seek out other players, those like-minded souls, eternal beings, who know we are all just leap frogging each other home.
✨✨✨
Yes, I hear Ram laughing too! I hope you enjoy my little homage, Stephanie. Thank you so much for ordering "Croneology: Poetic Reflections on the Crone". This poem sleeps and dreams in my third book "Soror Mystica: Balancing the Divine Feminine and Divine Masculine", page 116.
Deborah, you are a treasure! Big hugs.
I'm thrilled you enjoyed my little homage, Stephanie! Thank you so much.
This is simply exquisite.
That's so generous of you Susan, thank you so much!
Oh my gosh! What a tender and vulnerable look at your mother and the perils you both faced! That you can see her as that child on her brown horse in the valley in Poland before life took her to those places she dreamed of going and also brought hardship and heartbreak is such a gift. And such a wonderful insight into your own wanderings and the longing to find home with the sunlight and forested paths to explore. (I think that longing for where we belong on this earth is an expression of our terraphilia.) And your gorgeous exercise of standing in the sun imagining one's matrilineal line is simply brilliant. Thank you for being you, Stephanie, and sharing your insights and gifts. Blessings and a hug!
Thank you for your kind and thoughtful comment, Susan. Yes, we all desire on some level and expression of our terraphilia. You are in my heart.
Bless you! And I am sending good house-sale energy your way. May you find yourself on the road to those forested paths soon....
It’s nice you had a bond with your Morher. However tenuous I hear her life still holding you.
My mother decided her two middle daughters of four needed her. When she thought she was about to die I asked her my aching questions. Mainly why did she never say the words “I love you” or “I’m proud of you” or “ I believe in you” to me.
Her answer was How could we not love you? You were always our favorite.
I was shocked and just done. I was the active, smart, fun, attractive fourth daughter and always felt I was in the way.
Then my mother said, “Your sisters needed me and you didn’t. “
Every child needs to hear I love you. And feel special in some way.
I remember hugging her robotically as I left for the airport. She lived another 10 years and we never spoke again. It may seem sad but her words released me from trying to win her love and attention.
I believe she did as best she could with her own inadequate upbringing.
I’m thankful for my adult children. We just do as best we can with each day.
Thank you for sharing.
I find that mother daughter relationships are especially complicated -- whether we got what we needed or didn't, the relationship remains as one of life's most important. You grew into a grateful, loving mom, so it seems to me that you did more than just your best. Biggest of hugs.
John O'Donohue wrote that one of the most precious gifts of growing old is our "treasure house of memory" and you illustrated this rather powerfully. I love how your mother's sweetest memories were infused into your own. Thank you for writing this Stephanie. Home is timeless, the past and present. We forget how much we need it, don't we?
Stephanie, you say it so well -- we forget how much we need it. Thank you for this.
Here on the island, Ram Dass's "walking each other home" remains the mantra. The sense of belonging and the ties of "family" run deep, though we are far from our homes of origin. I love the picture you've painted of your mother, her life, her struggles, and her dreams, and yours as well, Stephanie. My mom and I were besties, lucky for me, and my maternal grandmother was a good one. You make me want to delve into my lineage and see who's standing behind her. Our "now" is only because of our heritage and all who have come before us. What a lovely party it would be if we could all get together to share our stories.
Dear, sweet, friend, THIS: "Our "now" is only because of our heritage and all who have come before us. " May you and I always share our stories and thereby know the stories of others. Much love.
My mother grew up in Mississippi on a farm. She told me stories of getting up at 5 am to milk cows. She was sheltered from the violence and racial tensions on that farm. To hear her speak of it, it was Eden. When she first moved north with my father, she was more embarrassed by her roots. She got rid of her accent. We'd visit Mississippi to see relatives, but she didn't speak of it much when we were home in NJ. But when she got old and her body started betraying her, she longed for home. For the last 15 years of her life, she and my father lived in a mobile home just a few miles from the house Mom grew up in. They went to her childhood church. She wanted to be home, to grow old among "her people." It was hard for us to understand, especially since she moved so faraway from us. It was impractical, too, because they lived in the country, away from medical resources. In the end, she spent just the last six months away from her home before Dad died, then her.
What a beautiful and poignant story from the past. We may not understand our parents or grandparents choices in life, yet we are still connected to them and their version of longing.
Homecoming yearnings,
daydreams, longing belonging.
A lifelong journey.
Thank you for bringing poetry to the discussion. I appreciate you and the lens through which you see, so much, Marisol.
What a lovely essay about the longing to belong. I have considered and written about the concept of home (multiple essays here on Substack) for most of my adult life. Chaos and dysfunction in my childhood drove my desire to create a safe and secure sense of home.
I am now torn about leaving my rural mountain homestead, where I have lived the longest because aging here would not be the wisest choice. More recently, I have been considering relocating to another country. It's consuming my emotional energy.
The whole idea of a move is daunting at this stage of life. I'm wanting the upcoming one to be my last -- and like you I have the consideration of being more centrally located to medical, grocery, etcetera, and in a one level home, please. Sending you love and goodwill, with many hopes that your relocation is easeful.
I just cleaned up a garden planted with starts from my mother’s garden and bordered by large rocks that my mother collected. She passed in 2007. This is a beautiful memorial to her long and strong life!!
A garden/earth altar to pay homage to your beautiful mother. Wonderful.
This is wonderful. Thank you. I've always loved the idea of our ancestors being with us powerfully, but felt myself exempt somehow. I didn't have any sunlight, and i don't know about most of my ancestors, i'm not sure they were admirable... but this gave me a way into that awareness. Not being alone...
You intuition and imagination can help to guide you to the path they took before you were here. Sending love, hugs and goodwill.
Thank you for the exercise of standing in the sun with arms outstretched while imagining my mom, grandmother, aunt, and so many others who helped me grow into myself today.
When I look back at the matriarchy that stands behind me, I truly feel grateful and I know that I’m never alone.
I love the phrase "boneyard of images." Great writing IMHO.
Your humble opinion means a great deal to me, Lynn. Thank you for reading and for taking the time to comment. Sending a big smile and thank-you, your way.
This is such a beautiful textured story. I love your mother and her as a little girl with her horse, gorgeous.
Interesting to learn that you moved every year. And that you were walking each other home with your partner.
A wonderful weaving, closing with our ancestral lineage of mothers always here. Thank you so much. Well done once again.
Like a little girl, anticipating a gift, I always anticipate a comment from you, a true kindred spirit who has been weaving with me throughout the ages. Somehow your tapestry overlaps mine, and brings me comfort that I have friends on the journey. May our threads, the spinning and the weaving continue to connect us. You are in my heart. Thank you for being here.
same same I always look forward to reading your rich soulful essays
💚🌹💚
What a beautiful image, standing in the sun with the ancestors behind me. Thank you.
I hope you'll bring the exercise to life. Sending you love, hugs and goodwill.