She Cries "Mamma..."

And she cries and cries and wails, "Mamma!  Oh, Mamma...!"  And she stumbles down the grassy hill, which in these parts looks like a landscape of its own; it has tiny hillocks, patches of different shades of green.  There is a Buddha - maybe a Boddhisatva - at the bottom of a set of stone steps, meditating on a small mound.  The mountains are jagged and rocky in the foreground, way up high in the sky.

I am a candle burning until the time comes to return to the energy field.  I have manifested here through love and will flicker and burn, sway in the four winds, until I change again into another form.  We cry, "Mamma," still shedding our skins.  We came from her.  Who would have thought we'd have to find her again?

Black, curly hair; frizzy like a beautiful doll.  Poor thing moans and groans, crouches over herself in a spasm-ing feral hysteria.  I wonder who her Earth mother is, and where she is now.  I hum a tune to the girl, a Celtic tune that's been floating around in my head.  These are all like lullabies, these tunes. Calming, helping us call to each other - tonight the way back home, to the cradle of Earth, the green and blue heart-Home.  The Hearth-home, around which we can be warm.

The body moves like it is possessed.  Sometimes this is a spasm of out-flow, a pure manifestation of the goings on of the mind, the cleaning process.  Sometimes it's an enactment, a drama playing out.  Her drama is strong, but so is her longing.  You're lost, little girl.  Something about the Morrison lyric comes to mind.  But becoming found.  At another time, perhaps she appears like a blue-skinned Krishna, the tune of His flute whispering into the great forest; the people are dancing, my Love, and it is to the beautiful tune you play.

Sometimes the playing out of the lower energies comes as such a real experience of this illusory reality, one's heart cannot help but ache.  What is underneath is trying simply to be, but the walls built throughout personal and collective history are very strong.  Mamma should I build a wall?  Of course.  How else to survive?

So I hum the tune, surprisingly calm.  I am not an experienced healer, but I have a big hear and this heart has learnt to recognise its old friends.  Because your heart, my friend, and my heart - they are old friends.  Anyone and everyone feels the pain of the other, because the other is a mirror and when you see yourself staring back, you feel it.  No great networks of thought can penetrate this experience.  Suffering is such a strong way to connect back into Her; we all experience it.

Mamma, she cries.  In so many different tones, so many nuances.  Sometimes it's as though she sees Her and there's hope, sometimes it's as though she's calling to Her from very far away, almost without hope of being heard.  I hum the tune and she hears it.  She reacts to it with an infant-like, "Hmm," and I slowly leave her be, walking away to the edge of the concrete, to where the grass begins.

Holy light, be strong and come through.  Grow toward the sunlight, for it is what you naturally do.  Let them go, these things.

They no longer serve you.