Mother and Daughter

There was a sweetness in the soft crunch as she stepped through the woods. In the air, an undercurrent of finality and rot that she could taste at the back of her throat. The old woman grasped with a gnarled hand a roughly worn basket, full of the fungi and roots that would be the core of her lonely suppers for the following days. She stumbled over a mossy tree root, letting out a curse as her frail ankle twisted and she fell to her knees, dropping her basket. She whispered a prayer to the Mother that her humped back and sore knees would see her up to her feet. She braced the branches of her fingers against the cold and damp earth. Her breathing labored; she gave a weak warrior’s cry as she attempted to use the strength in her arms to propel her upwards. 

Today would not be the day she would rise again. Her wrist gave out, and she fell, undignified, flat on her face and abdomen. Nose pressed to the moss and lips in dirt, the woman smiled. She closed her eyes against the moist grains that tried to push under her eyelids. Rather than struggle, she gave in to the defeat. She was tired. Relaxing her elbows, she spread her arms wide. She flattened her hands in an embrace of the Mother that had supported her feet and kept her and her family fed for generations. 

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Mother.” Her lips opened and closed as she tasted the minerals of the fertile soil and the decay of forest vegetation. Her prayer continued, “This life has been beautiful, and this life has been hard. What will happen if I cannot rise again, Mother? Will you care for me?” The woman turned her head and pressed an ear to the cold ground. She waited, her breath a weak wind that stirred the fallen leaves near her. The rags of her clothing grew damp while the sun weakened to twilight. The woman’s faith did not waver and her embrace did not weaken. She longed to be returned to the warmth of a mother and experience the joyful helplessness of infancy. 

“I will wait for you, Mother,” was her repeated prayer as night fell. Her patience was unwavering.

The Mother waited until the veil was thin to reply in rumbles the woman felt under her prone body, less a voice not heard with the ears but felt with the soul and heart. 

“My daughter. My sweet, devoted daughter,” she felt.  Her weathered lips moved into a smile. 

“Yes, Mother. I am here. I cannot get up, Mother. I need you.”  These words were the naked confession of fear in her heart. In reply, there was a soft shifting of soil and a sense of sinking. A small yelp escaped her lips.

“Worry not, my daughter. I am here for you. There is no pain in this.” The earth shifted and made a space for her. The roots of trees and plants tunneled, adding to the vibrato of the mother’s words. They wound soft, gentle arms about her body. She was turned with love and care until she rested on her side. 

“There, my daughter…I have you now. Is this what you needed from your mother?” Mother had warmed the soil and spilled it back over her, the softest blanket that conformed to her small body. The roots that held her rocked her gently. A pillow of moss had formed under her head, the only part of her not in the earth. The stiffness that the cold put into her bones melted away with such loving care. Her heart settled into a rhythm of peace. 

One thought could not be moved from her, however.

“What is to become of me, mother? I cannot get back up and live this life anymore. I am alone. My body is weak. How will I get back home?” Hot tears spilled down her weathered cheeks and watered the fertile soil beneath her face. The roots and soil tightened around her, as if to offer comfort and soothing. 

“My beautiful child…I can bring you to your final home. You can live in our forest as one of my eternal daughters. Is this what you wish?” The old woman’s soul leapt with joy and relief. 

“I want nothing more than to be your eternal daughter. This world has left me behind and I am ready for the next. It is my time. I am ready…but let me see the moon one last time.” She felt the Mother roll in laughter.

“You will see the night and the moon for eternity! But take your fill with your human eyes.” How long she lay with her head on the moss pillow did not matter. She looked until her heart had its fill. 

“I am ready to go home with you now.” She closed her tired eyes for the last time, the soil and roots soothing her with soft strokes to her arms and hair. Slowly she sunk into the earth, the Mother welcoming her home.

She moved through the dirt, soil shifting down as she sank into a sea of the stuff all life was created from. Through this comforting dark, she landed in a cave of sorts, made from the roots of trees. The woman felt whole but discovered she had no form, no hands to hold up, no feet to stand on. She was energy and light. She mirrored the energy and light that was waiting for her. 

“Mother,” she sounded without lips. 

“My child. What would you be reborn as? You can be the wildflowers that bloom in the spring. Fungi that birth from decay. A brook that carries the blood of all life. It is your choice.”

The woman thought for several moments and sounded in reply: “I want to be an Aspen.”  “Wise choice, daughter. You shall stretch into a grove of the most magnificent Aspen trees! This is worthy of you, my love. You will stand eternal,” the Mother responded with delight.

The energy of the Mother engulfed the energy of the daughter in a communion of soul and divinity. In this embrace, the woman was changed and enriched. She was shown the wisdom of the Mother and her daughters in this earth-womb. The woman became the daughter and from this chrysalis in the ground, she was born again in the form she so desired.

***

It is a glorious day in late spring. A deep blue sky with only a few clouds and the sun shining brightly down on the side of a vast, gentle green slope.. A variety of birds and animals have made this strange place their home. The land is covered with all manner of vegetation and trees that should not exist together. A field of bright red poppies bloom amid a grove of date palms. Vines heavy with fat purple grapes wrap around stately evergreens. There is a sandy spot at the base filled with saguaros whose arms reach high into the sky. Blood lilies, orchids, and bird-of-paradise flank their spiky trunks. Higher up the hill, just beyond a spectacular English rose patch, is an enormous grove of aspen trees. The trunks gleam white, the tops are full of bright green leaves that change with the seasons, and the invisible roots hold the wisdom of a daughter of the earth.