I never hungered for food as a child. I starved, though, for the love of my mother–something beyond the loneliness in the emotional sea between us and the actual fear of her ferocity. I thought it’d be in the cupboard of good grades, good behavior (and the occasional hope the connection would be found in the bad as well), diligence and, perhaps, talent.
As an I’ve grown into thisness, though, the opposite has become true. I’m often physically hungry but live steeped in the kind of love that exists beyond a mother’s capacity–that thing of the larger universe that binds us through those perceived seas between us.
There is no longer an attachment to those feelings held as a young child and young adult. They helped mold me and guide me to this place and the beings I am and work with but no longer exist as they used to. My brain and body no longer hold them but I am reminded each time I touch another whose path has been similar to mine.
When the cells and selves that have held the fear of fist, abandonment and invasion of safety and sex zones, are ready to be opened into the light of mercy, what happens is the thing of dreams. That love that I’m steeped in and of, is felt for, often the first time, in the entirety of another.
To be with someone who, for the first time, can know they are cherished and treasured by all that is holy is magnificent. When inner strength formerly girded by insecurities opens into love and begins the process of angelic unfolding, I’m reminded of our glory, our potential and the hope that each of us brings the rest of us.
To know–and to feel within every fiber of our being– that we are cherished–without exception, without expectation–is our birthright.
I love you.