Mother/Child: Coda
Alicia Ostriker
Fear teaches nothing
that is my message
but O to grow means pain
means division
the crust cracks and the open
organism faces danger
the grass plant bladed and seeded, the forked spruce
burst from the mountain’s northern side that never
asked to breathe, here in this cold, but must.
It is the oldest, saddest story.
The oceans were ebbing.
The climate was chilling.
Anyone who had a lung was forced
to live, not die.
Anyone who had a leg was forced
to leap. The driven soldiers of the cause.
March. Think. Pay no attention to
the corpses. Do not attempt to join them.
March. Your task is to survive. You
are permitted to feel triumph.
Here is water, here is dry land,
up there the kingly sky and queenly moon,
a desire to turn back and a desire
to go on are the permanent
instructions, and we know that this has something
to do with our souls, also that “go on”
for any individual thing or creature
at first means “play,” “multiply,” “strike
deep, aim straight” and “trust,” but that
later this changes and means “it is too late,”
“take your last journey,” “we love you, but goodbye.”
We do not know yet what the instructions signify
for an entire species, a muddy ooze,
and we cannot make any prognosis on those levels
or answer the intimate question
shall all life
perish like us, the perfect crest subside?
I am glad and sorry to give you this information.
I see you know it already.
I want to tell you it is not your fault.
It is your fault.
So from now on you are responsible.
That is what we mean when we say
consciousness is a curse.
Meanwhile we are looking into
each other’s eyes, windows of homes,
and touching, with sweet pleasure,
each other’s downy surfaces.
You will never forget this,
will always seek, beyond every division,
a healing of division, renewed touch.
You see the silver bridge
spanning a flood?
This is what we mean when we say
consciousness is a blessing.
There is no possible way to protect your child from what life has in store for them. This is the burden of being a parent. Life can be a curse and a blessing. Ostriker's poem states that consciousness is a curse and a blessing, and this is so true. Sometimes, the examined life is a bit much to bear. Sometimes, reflection is what makes life bearable.
Before my daughter reached her third birthday, I divorced her father. For what ever reason, he has chosen not to be involved in her life, other than a couple phone calls a year. Of course she blamed me, herself, turned her anger everywhere but at him, and then finally fully at him, until spent, she sent her anger off on a little boat and and wished it safe journey.
Mother's Day is this weekend. I'm more of a mother bear than a bake cookies kind of mother. The Artemis archetype as my style of mothering comes to mind, although the goddess never had a child.
My daughter is strong, independent. She loves nature. She always loved animals and being outside, and at this moment, she's off hiking with her boyfriend.
I think I did the best I could with her and my stepchildren, but you'll have to ask them. I used to tell my daughter that she was "on the pychiatrist's couch for that one". Once, after some infraction or craziness, she turned to me and repeated this word-for-word. I still find it hilarious to remember her tiny sweet voice telling me she was going to need therapy to deal with my mothering.
My mother had seven children. I don't know how she managed. I know I couldn't have raised that many children, even with an entire cadre of helpers. Nine years later, I can say that I am fortunate to have had two mothers in this lifetime. Same woman. One prestroke, and one post. I used to get very angry and ask god and the saints, the stars, whatever or whomever was available, "when is my mother coming back?" The old her is never coming back, and although I miss her, I like the new her just fine.
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