The Mysticism of Motherhood

She births and sends out a solid and substantial piece of self
Nurturing and watching it grow
She must release it in ever increasing increments until one day she sends out her beloved one
Vested full of her very life force
She does so
Sometimes haltingly
Sometimes with fears
Or tears
Or inexplicable joy and peace
Often a mix of all of these flow ever outward
But carrying the hope that this being
Infused with her essence
Will circle back to her in love.

About this poem: 

This poem was composed in a few moments of reverie… thought-play, if you will, as I waited in the lobby of a psychiatric hospital. I so wanted to use the word prana here, because it is so central to the idea that birthed the poem, but most of my readers are unfamiliar with that term. Prana is the life-force, the essence of life, what Christians would call the spirit.


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