Sunday, November 3, 2019

Dona Nobis Pacem ~ Blog 4 Peace

 Welcome to the 14th launch of BlogBlast For Peace aka Dona nobis pacem in the Blogosphere. 
It's a lovely sight in the Blogosphere today. Our theme this year is Change Your Climate. Many are choosing to write about global climate change. Others are choosing to write about the need to change their own personal climates in order to create peaceful spaces for themselves ( ie: eliminating stress, self-care). I have chosen the latter.  

 Your words are powerful and important to all of us. May we lift and encourage in our quest for a peaceful more sustainable planet earth.  Grant us peace!  My peace post is called.....

Bathing In Persimmon Trees



As she got older and more introspective, my mother would spontaneously start talking about random things from her faraway childhood. On this day, she began to weave invisible spinning yarn in the air in front of her. "There are these threads....you see....threads...." as her hands moved in and around them,  making sense of mysteries in her mind,  weaving and talking as she spun, connecting branch to branch to branch. Except she wasn't really sitting there with me. She was somewhere back in time playing dodgeball with the curse.

 "I can see them going back generations."
"What kind of threads?" I asked. 
"Poverty. Brokenness. Abuse. Depression. Alcoholism. Divorce. Conflict. Addiction. 
Bad threads....don't you see them, Mimi?"
Yes, mama, I've always seen them.



Like shadows on trees in a cemetery, cast long from eons of time and generation, I had always seen them. 

If you want to go mad, 
cover them up.

If you want to break the curse,
stand in the Light.


Generational threads can tie together what desperately needs to be broken. They are inherently binding and strong.
Made of flax. Faith. Fiber. Custom. Tradition. Tribe. Toxicity. Untruth.
Even and especially love.

Whether they remain tied and woven into the next generation depends not on the strength of the cotton, but on the spinning of the pattern. Twisted legacies take whole life spans to unspin. It requires laser-sharp discernment and a willingness to plant a new field. To begin a better story. Harvesting new tribes is not for the faint-of-heart. My mother was anything but faint.






And that's when I began to remember...
warm water washing down my back.
I felt the heaviness of long tangled hair.
Soap.
And her hands in my hair.
Scrubbing and soothing at the same time.  Bare feet on a dark linoleum speckled floor, bent over the kitchen sink in the middle of a fifties wood frame in the heat of summer and the only running water in the house.  Daddy hadn't finished the bathroom yet.
My mother stood untangling the mane that was always tangled and drying me off with a ragged towel. 
Tangled threads you see....


And then I started to cry 

Uncontrollably. Sobs from an eight-year-old that should never be heard by a mother. 
She knew. I could see it in her eyes. She knew. From the covering of shame I felt underneath the thinness of fabric that could not cover could not cover could not cover the confusion and tremble of a skinny little girl who had just been reminded of more than innocent suds running down the back of a dark-haired freckle-faced me with grownup questions swirling in her mangled head.
She looked straight into the dripping freckles and raised her eyes to meet mine.




It was my mother's greatest gift to me. 

Unwavering trust. Unquestioning acceptance. She believed what I was about to tell her before I said it. I can still taste the shampoo on my lips and see the horror in her eyes, the quiver in my voice. I remember the way my eyes wanted to only stare at the linoleum while she gathered herself.  Standing there dripping in a torn towel while she called someone to tell them what she'd seen in her daughter's eyes.
I never had to see him again.
She saw to it.

She sacrificed family and relationships to protect me. 
Had she chosen to look the other way, I am sure without a shadow of an oak tree doubt,  I would have crumpled into a broken twig on the sudsy floor and never recovered.
Instead, it was the moment that defined me. 

In the deepest part of me that day, she taught me to trust the sacred places that no one should touch.  I owned every nook and crevice again before she even finished with the tender drying
 because my mother believed me 
she gave me permission to trust myself
She had no idea that she'd just given me my voice.




Of all the trials that came later - our arguments, her quirky temper, my stubbornness - our differences growing wider in the middle of our lives, then circling back to unconditional love, as happens with mothers and daughters  - I'm not sure she ever fully recovered from the sadness of that moment. 

Threads
You see them, don't you Mimi?

 I wanted so much to know her and understand her better and all that mysterious weaving in the spirit. Those strands had names. They had stories. But there wasn't time and she was gone.  What made her so unbreakable? What stopped her from untying the last piece of tangled life and freeing herself? What kind of woman knows by instinct and love how to run straight into battle for her daughter?  That's the indestructible mother I longed to fully know.

When I felt she had no faith in my endeavors or no understanding of my independence, in hindsight, now, I wonder if the moment under the towel defined the way she would forever try to keep me from straying too far into unfamiliar territory. As I spread my wings to fly away, perhaps her holding on was the only way of protecting me.  Perspective.

I went through some things this year that broke my heart. Multitudes of unkindness and wholly undignified days. But the more vile they became, the more grace I received. 

 My body is recalibrating. Balancing. Resetting. Changing my climate, my environment, is not just necessary for peace of mind, it's mandatory for my survival. 
I am ready to put this decade behind me but not without the wisdom it contains.

Standing under the canopy of trees gives me courage and strengthens my vulnerability - that delicate balance between authenticity and prudence.   It resembles the act of protection and trust. Intimacy and connection.  You might not have a lifetime or even a decent swath of moments like these with the people you love. 
But it only takes one.  
Divine grace echoes on the walls of my heart. 
My mother's grace reverberates decades later.

And she is the reason that I can stand uncovered in a field of persimmon trees
without fear 
without shame
without scars

I finally learned to accept all our twisted roads and fallen places.  How she tried to exhume the genesis of those invisible threads in her hands, never quite finding where the first broken piece began and the last continued.  
 You see them, don't you Mimi?

She died before she could unravel all the threads
But she deposited in me just enough spitfire to keep my end of the peace treaty intact:
To leave the untelling on the kitchen floor 
To live without hiding behind trees 
To forgive those who want to see me broken
To be open and brave when your words need wording
and to be loud in the most vulnerable of places

and that's why I need trees
Had you told me a year ago that people can feel energy from trees, I would have silently patted you on the head and sent you on your way. And yet, since her death six months ago, I find myself running to the forest on my mountain, sitting for hours in the sanctuary of their branches. Breathing in oxygen. Absorbing life into the cells of my stress-laden body.
 Finding the Mother trees. They shelter the young saplings and strategically branch out in directions that give them the most nourishment from the sun.
Did you know there are mother trees?

We are made stronger when we understand where we came from
when we uncover what is hurting us
We discover which branches are strong and which need pruning.
I am learning to be thankful for the miles of memories that created me
all of them

Safety sometimes lies in being unseen
but never in being unheard.




Please sign the Mr. Linky at the end of this post so that others may visit you and see the beautiful peace globes throughout the Blogosphere. Remember to tag me on Facebook  or wherever you are on social media. Thank you for being a part of this community of peace bloggers.
Photo credit: Mimi Lenox
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21 comments:

Mickey's Musings said...

WOW! That is the most beautiful post I have ever read.
Thank you for sharing.
BIG HUGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Nancy

Ned Hamson said...

Thanks. Now I know there is another who sees threads of energy, memories, trees - life - raining down on us and shooting out of us. And occasionally they are as visible as rain. That's when I just stop and watch them in wonder and...

Sherry Blue Sky said...

What a powerful story, Mimi, and what a wonderful mother. I changed my poem when I saw the theme. I ABSOLUTELY know that trees have and share their energy with us. That there are mother trees, and a network of root systems connected all the way across the forest floor under the soil. In my hardest years, I learned to "Be a Tree', to strengthen the trunk of me to withstand the ups and downs of others, to have brnches strong enough to support them, but flexible enough so I didnt topple over..........Thank you for this story, and for all of your work to bring us the blogblast every year, for all these years.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Claudia, I couldnt find a place to leave you a comment. Thank you for sharing your story. I am so sorry your childhood was so traumatic and am glad that you survived and made it to being an adult in control of your own peaceful life. I agree, watching the news is distressing these days. All my life, I have found peace and spiritual replenishment in nature - in the forest, and at the shore. Trees are just waiting to bathe us in sweet peaceful energy. Wishing you well, may health and healing and peacefulness be yours.

Janice said...

the persimmon trees see your threads as well as you. They stand strong and so do you. Peace, my friend.

Mimi Lenox said...

Mickey - I am glad you enjoyed reading. Thank you so much.
Writing it was healing and hard at the same time. Hugs received.

Mimi Lenox said...

Ned - And now I know another one too...
It's hard to explain to those who don't see, isn't it?
Or maybe they do and just haven't realized it yet.
I wish I'd had more time with her. She was beginning to talk about it more and more.

Mimi Lenox said...

Sherry - "...to strengthen the trunk of me to withstand the ups and downs of others" YES and AMEN. Be a Tree is much different than Be LIKE a Tree. I will never look at the roots of trees the same again, not since the summer I spent in the woods.

Thank you for supporting me and so many other writers in the Blogogsphere. Settling in now to go read poems and stories. I hope someone did videos this year and songs!

Mimi Lenox said...

O Cookery One - I thought you had no words. Ha!
You are waxing poetic. Even in a comment section.
I must go investigate.

(and thank you)

Susie Clevenger said...

This is so beautiful. What a gift, legacy your mother left with and in you. Thank you so much for all your work to gather a community for a day of peace that grows, leaves, and strong through roots of peace.

speedyrabbit said...

Beautiful,your Mother sounds just amazing,xx Speedy

Tink said...

Beautiful, thank you for sharing.
Peace to you 🌎

CyberCelt said...

So many young women and men were destroyed by the same generational curse. You are blessed that your mother listened to what was not said. My mother ignored what was said and ignored me for knowing it. We forget how many freedoms we take for granted today that women did not have in the 1950s. My mother thought she was forced to stay with my father--for the children. She never saw the threads that bound her to stay and suffer and allowed her children to suffer. Peace to all the mothers today and the children they left behind.

Love ya, Mimi

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Island Cats, your site wont accept my comment. But your globe is AWESOME. I love it!

Gemma Wiseman said...

Such a teary and happy post...So very beautiful...Each year, I feel your peace post is the most beautiful, sensitive insight into the self's dimensions that I have ever read...and each one always manages to be a little ahead of the last...A winner...AGAIN!...

ilovemylife said...

I read this personal post last night. The gift to write is such a refuge. It never fails us. Thank you for your willingness to open to us and trust us with caring for you, your beauty, your introspection and your vulnerability. Much love and gratitude. ❤️Sandra Hammel❤️

Cathy Keisha said...

Thank you for the beautiful post and hosting Blog 4 Peace annually.

Little Binky and Granny said...

Oh, Mimi, such a beautiful post. Very heartfelt written💗Loved the pictures too. Pawkisses from heart to heart for a Peaceful Day and Thank you for hosting this great event🐾😽💞

Mimi Lenox said...

I appreciate all of you. Your posts are most excellent! I love this community.

Bud Weiser, WTIT said...

I'm glad you stick with this. The more wars that we are in the more it means. I mentioned you in a post today. I hope it was tasteful... ;)

Mimi Lenox said...

Bud - I am glad to see that you are still blogging and have joined us for peace day again. You were here when we started in 2006 (!) can you believe it? That makes you an original peace blogger.

I will be by soon to document your peace globe post and place it in the gallery. So cool to see many of the original bloggers come back this year. Take care, my friend.

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