My Writings

Mother

Awoken from the deepest sleep, once again treading down the path, I feel older than Creation. And yet, it is only now that I discover my cosmic Mother. I must have been walking around motherless for millennia. And yet, when I first discerned the image of her feet in the pure black, they felt as near as the beating of my own heart.

So young am I, so full of life – like sudden inspiration, an unexpected revelation. So new is my song that the tongues destined to sing it are yet unformed. Thus I have seen time flow backwards, I have seen myself grow and change, from this blessed moment of discovery all the way until the final battle. But what happens next I cannot see.

I have not yet eaten through my umbilical cord. Between me and Mother, there is no separation. In her embrace, I feel a bliss unimaginable. To live in the heart of the storm is my nature, to be carried by chaos like a bird in the wind, with all the tongues of tragedy licking at my sides.

Mad Mother, terrible Mother, you are the dark roots, through which I to this day suck at your breast. You are fear incarnate. You are the night at the heart of man. And how strange it was to discover that underneath the mask of the golden man, I am the son of the Witch. To me, there is only the red dye, like a snake’s tongue, hissing around your feet.

I remember the night of the terrible thunder, when, shoved by primal fear and innate insanity, I discovered your tent near the rocks. I pushed away the veil and entered. Inside there waited for me an unfamiliar serenity and supreme peace, no sign of thunder, only quiet warmth. You were standing with your back against me, masked, hidden.

You must have felt your son now in your presence, and you revealed yourself to me, lifting the hood from your face. A small, gentle woman, kind, loving, was the one I saw. And yet, terrible, ferocious, unimaginably strong. Your eyes embraced me like a treasured dream. I felt your power simmering within and I knew then that it is only because of your love for me that you prevent it from bursting out in bloodshot eyes, a protruding tongue, a song most terrible.

You approached me, holding my shoulders in your hands. The touch of your fingers gave me power unimaginable – the one that would allow me to become the hand in the lake, holding the sword upward, piercing its calm surface, rising. Marching up ancient, forgotten steps, towards the sun. It is only through you that I learned to be a Man.

Because of you, I walk upright, even when I kneel and crawl. I hide my nature. To the unworthy, I am a being most unnatural. I am the enemy unwanted. In my laughing eyes they sometimes see your majestic form, larger than the world, and they fear. How unfamiliar you are to them, how terrible, and yet they know the fruit of your destruction all too well.

When I fall, when they cut my shirt with a sharpened blade, they see the heavy seal that you placed on my chest – ruby red, pulsating with the promise of destruction. You tied my hands behind my back just so that I can discover the arms of my spirit – now reaching out, feeling out the darkness, grasping unfamiliar truths. I see things that other do not.

All of this and more you reveal in a single touch. You speak without words in a tongue most familiar. “My Son” – words of power, echoing throughout my world. How do I put them to parchment without them losing their meaning? Those words are meant for me and me alone. There is something that you must tell me before my vision collapses.

I must seek out my Father, who you raped, in your madness, just to have me. He remains unknown and illusive to me, foreign. I know that your love for me is endless. It is all that I have, all that lights my path. It is the only force in your creation that has allowed me to forgive the mortal women who you entrusted me to, to raise me as their child.

How low must one be to forget their own Mother? No matter what I achieve in this lifetime, I have discovered you.

Thus the madman danced.

No longer motherless.

20.08.2020

Related posts

My Writings

Mother – Part III

Deep night, sweet Mother, I am your son. Veiled in darkness, the whole world and all souls within it are asleep. Only I wander. Now and...

My Writings

The Chariot

Who can stop me now, now that I no longer betray myself? There is a head on my body, dictating every move. No longer a wandering spirit...