“Honour thy father and thy mother: and, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”
…
Oh, slowly, slowly go you shepherds of the night
Bringing ruin and destruction to the youth and equanimity of my love;
She is the fairest rose of that eternal landscape
Which illumines man and matter,
With the scent of gold and grace.
…
Oh, what is a mother other than a profound rose, made eternal by the love of a Sun!?!
What am I but a blind man, who can only grasp at the infinite love of a mother; unable to comprehend the source and movement of her roots, which bear down deep into the soul, supplying nutrients to the body, making the skin darker, making the man deeper?
“Soy ciego y nada sé, pero preveo
que son más los caminos. Cada cosa
es infinitas cosas. Eres música,
firmamentos, palacios, ríos, ángeles,
rosa profunda, ilimitada, íntima,
que el Señor mostrará a mis ojos muertos”
-Jorge Luis Borges
...
A mother wishes and dreams;
She waits silently in rooms,
Adorned by pictures and trophies,
Remembering those promises
That were made to her by a little boy,
Of six or seven years,
When he said
“Mommy, I will love you forever.”
A mother cures and cares for
Those life-scars that deaden
The bodies of sons and daughters,
When they cannot protect themselves,
When they are too young, too proud
To appreciate the calming warmth
Of a mother’s tender touch.
A mother watches with patience,
As sons and daughters navigate
Through the ominous edge’s
Of their own narrative,
As they figure out
That they are not always the hero,
And that a mother yelling at them,
Pushing you to finish your homework,
To come home safely,
Or to simply show some decency,
Is not always the villain.
A mother gardens and cultivates
Those dark and deep thoughts
Which young children entertain
As they learn how to feel,
To touch, to dream, to dream to touch;
Those same thoughts which stay
Enembered and enfleshed:
Having been lit by a mother’s courage and strength.
…
Dear mother,
Over the course of twenty years of life you have been like a profound rose to me. You have nurtured me through your utter beauty and subtle strength. You have been a true exemplar to me. You have taught me to be sincere, to be true to myself and to others. You have been a wonderful wife, staying close to your husband, keeping your melody even through the striking of those dissonant chords that always seem to come down upon a woman when she least expects it. I feel as though throughout all my years, even the years of my sisters, we have never fully appreciated you. You are always one remove away from me. I try as hard as I can to comprehend what compels you to do what you do, to support your children: Tú nos mantienes, y tú nos sostienes.
We children have yet to appreciate anything other than your motherhood. Roses do not simply adorn the landscape; they are self-contained givers of life with a complexity all their own. You are a profound rose because you are not simply a mother, but a woman. We have yet to give due respect to your corporeality, to the enduring passion by which you manage you to keep your head above water in this turbulent life. We are children of the sun who have gone too long being warmed, without contemplating the divine eternal movements of your spheres.
This is a note of praise, for a woman who just so happens to be my mother.
A woman who works, who nurtures, who goes out into the world every day looking to solidify her self, seeking to seep into every object with all the nuances of her soul.
Mother, I thank you for your wisdom, your love and care, and for your courage. The courage that is daunting to me, the courage to go out every day and have faith. Faith that your children love you and keep you in their prayers, faith that your husband will always be there for you, faith that everything you do will be appreciated. You mean so much to many people, but perhaps only one thing can tell you how much you mean to me:
“I love you forever, I love you for always, as long as I’m living my mommy you’ll be.”
