The strange thing today: all of the sudden the first year of Rowan’s life has passed – and slowly he moves away from me in that absolutely normal process of growing up. I remember the days when I couldn’t even take a shower because I couldn’t put him down. And now, suddenly: space again – even if just a little – to connect and reconnect, to dip into realm of calling, to wonder at what’s next and to take stock in what is.
I make it a practice to find space in the week to ask myself: “What wants to emerge?” What images arise in the short spaces between daily tasks? It is almost always in glimpses that callings and a deeper sense of inner direction surface in my awareness. For me this week what arises are images of pilgrimage, Ireland, the Earth-based sacred sites of my ancestors, the need to write down my experience, visions of creative projects, a pull to get crafty, draw to home-schooling (!?), desire to create seasonal festivals for family, homemade clothes and tablecloths, wool festivals, Irish dance, yoga asana practice and a soaking in of Summer and paying attention to the slow shift towards Fall.
Something about this phase of motherhood harkens me back to the crafts and wanderings of my ancestors. I feel more acutely my place in the lineage of humanity’s long line and my responsibility to pass on a heritage, culture, tradition, careful daily routines that have meaning and history. Much of this I have to re-create, and some days this daunts me, while others I step into this as if certainly stepping into a Calling – a calling from those who’ve been before me to bring forth a next generation with care and attention to detail: not randomness and the havoc of clogged airwaves and media waves and endless hobbies and comings and goings that mark the dominant way of being of my American culture.
No, instead we can follow the thread of quiet mothering rooted in millions of years of simple but profound gestures. Really, there is little that is more important. Embedded in this vision is invitation to slow down and use my hands, learn something of the old arts of cooking and crafting… I write this with a wry smile, feeling how the hormones of motherhood have shifted my attention to encompass the age old vestiges of ‘tradition’ – a pulling longing for place in a line of great Women who know the collective power of small acts of creativity and intention enacted in the canvas of Home.
Do not misunderstand: This too is calling, inspiration, creative expression channeled into raising another human being. It is not that other expressions of my calling or creativity or work in the world are less important or less present; It is just the unfolding understanding that there are few better ways to lend my realization and passion than manifested in the service of daily acts of caregiving. This is also yoga: that fine art of applying one’s will to the placement of the body as a gesture of love, openness, service, beauty. In the same way that I carefully place my hands and feet with loving attention to detail – I can also carefully create Home and Family. This too is sacred ground – the bleeding of spiritual practice and creative energies into manifesting the sanest, most grounded manifestation of what it means to be human – while also bringing another into the profound light of this experience.