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tuck those ribbons under your helmet

Turtle,

Went to see Tori last night. It was my first encounter with her since I had you. To my surprise, though the night was a welcome escape from the overwhelming responsibilities I face as Mother - all I could think of was you - in a deep and reflective way that I haven't allowed myself since the day I was told you were dying. Since the day I was told that you might not.

SHE was brazen haired and sparkling leopard print catsuit all porcelein and straining and liquid and stone. One small woman with one large talent and just one of her lucks to get such an enormous megaphone in her size five rubber boots. The lights seemed less bright, the crew fully visible and non-magical - even Pip didn't strike me so deeply this time in her Raven black hubris. My own black wig is often sitting reluctant somewhere near the bottom of your closet full of grown out baby shoes. And I in the corner pretending to cry musing inward as you concernedly pat my cheek. Such a tiny being to experience compassion. I am astounded by you daily.

And I am astounded by the bending reflection of this archetype. Once champion of all of my bursting in flames. Beating the door down to Jesus and demanding some answers. Lifting my skirts for my saviors and howling naked at the moon and seeing these pieces of me in these pieces of her as performer as poet as shaman.

Often embarassed by this connection to a popstar but we needed to hear it didn't we girls so she came in the way that she needed to and oh the compassion I feel for my sisters because of her thoughts and her ways and her prancing beyond the rules of the game. Still sitting at the edge and gaining courage to jump in there but it took her as long once so maybe I will have hope still.

They say in life Turtle, that the dreams of youth are the regrets of the aged and I am as afraid of it as anyone. I see myself blessedly alone and white longhaired and boots and flannel and black driftwood sculptures in the frontyard of my bayou. Perhaps she is in there already and these fantasies of mine are as real as I make them but what will become of you Blessed? I will indeed one day have to let you go again out into the wilderness of your own making. I will indeed have to muster all of the Zen Taoist restraint I can find in the library of self enlightenment. I will need wise things to say, and good ways to dry your tears.

But most of all, I will need the unimaginable force of will it will take to simply watch you bleed watch you bloom watch you spin into and out of yourself and back to your center.

Coming from a girl who spent years in the corner licking her wounds closing the door to all love, all help, all companionship, all compassion. Wounded coyote on the highway alone at midnight and skiddish - I have passed her. Though she comes by to visit sometimes and showed herself in the flesh to my own mother one day when your soul first graced my belly button. Coming from this place lost in the wilderness, I have risen to a woman in the center of her own world. And I spin so quickly now that I am still and I encircle all the seven souls in you with my endlessly encompassing arms. And I will always.

Someday, you will realize I am not the mother you thought I was. You will see my human face and how pale my skin and how fragile. And on that day, you will find mother in your own soul and you will spin until you stand still as well. And that journey is not up to me.

And I will watch you.

And I will love you endlessly until the day that I close my eyes.

And it is good.

And I am unafraid.

12:37 p.m. - 2007-11-30
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