It’s always so interesting how there is so much synchronicity in our lives.  Do events just naturally follow or is there sometimes something masquerading as coincidental that intervenes to control thru influence, the next outcome?  That would suggest  a beginning, however infinite movement has no beginning, no end.  Ah well, that perpetual pondering is for another time.

Back to synchronicity.  Recently I’ve written about Mom, a little bit about who she was…I wrote somewhat of how things were and a little of what happened to her.  Just this past weekend I saw a photo of a painting of The Madonna and Child and an eloquent paragraph honoring her as The symbol of the love for and of Mother.  The Madonna is  a symbol–not necessarily a real person– for all that the perfect mother could be.  No human mother is perfect, but reverent respect for all mothers, whether they be human or Planetary Mother Earth is a goal to strive for.

That all started me thinking of Mom and how it was with us.  I remember so well her telling me “Just wait, your time will come.  Just bide your time baby, and your time will come.”  She used to tell me that when I was a teenager and was upset by dad’s over-bearing nature.  She’d tell me that knowing that I would like to date but was afraid of what dad would do and not do and say.  She told me that when I suggested that she and I could leave him and move away to be free.   Then later it became, “Just bide your time and you’ll be free–you’ll go away to college and you’ll be free.”   That really meant something, I knew, because she had long before told me of how much she had wanted to go to school, but was forbidden by her dad to attend past 8th grade.  She not only loved learning–she was much more refined than dad in that respect–but she knew she had missed out on a lot in life by being uneducated.  It saddened her and she wanted better for me.  [1]

These past 2 weeks I’ve been at a couple of art fairs with an artist whose batik images spoke to me in a very deep, direct emotional-narrative way.  Especially that beautiful, lyrical, happy-sad moment of letting go the child and sending her out to spread her wings.  That image reminded me of my mom’s words to me.

No matter the frustration, she always loved me and I her.

[1]Dad recognized this for himself also, and it saddened him because he knew he could have accomplished so very much as a business man had he been college educated, but dad only blamed himself for not pursuing an education on his own.  He recognized that as a child he did what he thought he had to according to what his parents, whom he respected and loved despite how harsh disciplinarians they were along with being quite restrained emotionally. Mom on the other hand, always felt resentment from being held-back by her dad and then also dealt with a domineering husband.

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