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From Dasya to Prati Vatsalya: Journeying to the Heart of the Mother (Pt 3)



As Grace would have it, I ended up in a mindfulness based, outpatient program for people with PTSD. Though I had practiced asana off and on during my early adulthood and as a fertility treatment, the addition of meditation made all the difference. Something in me began to awaken. I began to study pagan forms of a divine mother (specifically Isis, because of a song by the same name by Bob Dylan) and my heart felt sparks of hope such as I’d forgotten could exist.

She, this Unknown Mother, gave me the strength to pack up my cat and flee my marriage, daring to begin again.

I share this, because one of my favorite quotes by Sri Guru Mā is, “When by the flood of your tears the inner and outer have fused into one, you will find Her whom you sought with such anguish, nearer than the nearest, the very breath of life, the very core of every heart.[1]

You see, I am convinced that Mā’s sword is Her most compassionate tool of awakening us to Her love. By taking away every thing and every one I thought I had, including and especially my children, I was forced to look at my Mother wound… and in that decaying hole, I found Her. The anguish is what allowed me to sense Her.

Medhas says, “Now and then, the Mother marks a bound soul as Her own… from then on, it is all Her grace.”[2]

Or, as Krishna Das says, “Grace removes obstacles that we don’t even know are there. Grace is what arranges our lives so we are forced to look within.”

She marked me… but not as a servant. I’d spent years as a servant of God… and deemed myself unworthy. So, I quit. I ran far from the shackles of bondage of which my own inadequacies were the chain. I could no longer believe in a God that would banish souls to eternal damnation. I could no longer sing the praises of the one my mom claimed to serve… the one who allowed her to crush my soul because of my apparently unforgivable “fallacies”. This was a master whose ways were out of line with my personal integrity… whatever I had left… and I could no longer serve this being, who could turn deaf ears to the cries of so many based on archaic rules misinterpreted nonetheless.

No… She didn’t mark me as a servant… but as Her own child.

We don’t get to “quit” being someone’s child. Though my birth mother and I are estranged, I will always be her child. Nothing can erase the time I spent developing in her womb… not even she can deny this part of our story.

I never held my children outside of my womb, but that doesn’t negate that they were mine. Not even death severs the bond between mother and child