White Ink

Writing is my breath, my awareness, my way of connecting with myself through meditation.  When words find themselves through my fingers, I can breathe more easily because a thought or a thought process is released. They are released through my fingertips on the this keyboard, or through my hands with a pen and paper. Both work equally as well for me.  I write with “white ink” (Cixous, 1975).  It is the ink of transformation given to me by the Mothers who graced life before I was born.  White for the milk pouring from their breasts to nourish countless children over countless generations since Time began.  I am one of them, now.  At 40 I was graced with a child of my own, whom I breastfed for over three years.  Giving him life, nourishment and protection.  As he grows into his six year-old Self, I learn.  How to be a mother, a healer and an artist.  In this moment, before tomorrow begins, I learn to be brave as he lay sleeping in another room, in another house.  Where, for tonight, I am not.  When we talked before bedtime, he, in his sweet child way, asked for a motorcycle helmet.  And, I,  in my sweet motherly way said, “I’ll think about it.”

He is my breath, my life, my measure of awareness to which I am held at the highest of standards.  And so my Channeling begins with white ink upon my paper.

 

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