For the Child Inside:

 

The Mother

 

I

 

A young woman was tending her garden when she found a small piece of wood. She held the wood in her hand, turning it carefully. She could see something magical in the wood but could not tell what it was. The wood spoke silently to her saying, “I am before I am.”

The woman took the wood into her home and held it and looked at it and rocked it in her favorite chair. One day she began to see what it might be. With her sharpest knife she began to carefully and gently carve it. After many days and nights without sleep, the woman set the carving aside. She knew what it was and she knew the wood no longer needed her knife to shape it. The woman had made a boat with a mast to reach for the stars and a sail to catch the wind and a strong hull to withstand the storms. The woman was proud of her work. She cleared off the mantle over her fireplace and put the tiny boat where she could see it when she was in the room.

 

Years went by and the woman continued to tend her garden, eating the best produce herself and selling the rest in the village. Even though she kept the best for herself, her customers were quite happy with the produce she sold them; often remarking that she was the best gardener around. At the end of the day, she would sit in her rocking chair and admire her little boat. Although gardening was what she was known for, really good at, she always felt the boat was the best she had to give. It was her pride and joy. Gardening, that was her job, but this carving was her soul made concrete.

 

 

II

 

One day, it was a Saturday so there was no garden work, the woman’s sister stopped by for a visit. She brought her daughter with her, a five-year-old named Tonya.

Tonya had never been to her aunt’s house. All the visiting had gone the other way with the woman carrying her best produce to family gatherings held at other relatives homes. For reasons none of us understands, the woman’s sister decided on the spur of the moment to make a visit and to take Tonya with her. The woman wasn’t used to entertaining and at first was flustered by what to do with these visitors. Her sister however was very comfortable with visiting and visitors and took charge, putting a kettle on for tea and asking for a tour of the garden. The woman gave the tour and the three of them returned to the house for tea. She was feeling quite proud and almost happy that her sister had come to visit and see her garden when Tonya spotted the boat on the mantel. Tonya said, “Oh auntie, auntie, let me play with the boat.”

 

Well, the woman was shocked! Play with the boat? Play? Tonya was jumping up and down by now, pointing to the boat and squealing, “Please auntie, please, please, please.”

 

Before she could censor herself and in the most severe voice she possessed the woman said, “That is not a toy. That is not for playing. You may not ever touch that boat.”

 

Tonya did not understand that at all. Even the woman’s sister did not understand it. Tonya began to cry, not so much from the woman’s words as from the tone of those words. The woman’s sister said, “Why is that tiny boat so precious?”

 

The woman had never really thought about that so her answer came unrehearsed and from the heart. “That boat is my soul. It is the best I have ever done. It is the best of me.”

 

“But sister, your garden is the best of you. Everyone says so.”

 

“No,” the woman replied, “This boat is as dear to me as Tonya is to you. It is my creation from my self.”

 

The sister had always known that the woman was a little different, but she was her sister and her love was borne of many years of knowing and accepting. If this was the woman’s creation, like a child, then so be it. She would honor it.

 

“I understand.” The sister turned to Tonya and said, “That little boat is not a toy. It is art, a creation of auntie’s that is not to be played with. Do you understand?”

 

Tonya was five and her life was still pretty concrete and literal. She shook her head yes, she understood, but she said, “Auntie, can I watch you sail the boat?”

 

The woman responded, “I don’t sail it. It has never sailed.”

 

And Tonya, the literal, replied, “Then it isn’t really a boat because it has never done what boats do.”

 

The sister could see the woman’s face grow pale and she knew from years of knowing her sister that the paleness was a sign of a serious wound. She didn’t understand the wound and she was used to Tonya just saying it like it is so it didn’t bother her at all, but the woman was hurt and she didn’t want the hurt to be more than it already was. So she said to Tonya, “The boat is art. It doesn’t do anything but it is still a boat.”

 

Tonya, feeling more comfortable because of her mother’s comforting words, the tone, not the words, said, “Then what good is it?”

 

The sister could see this was getting nowhere and decided the best course was to retreat. She thanked the woman for a lovely visit, for the tour of the gardens, for the tea, for everything except the boat. The boat she did not mention. She gathered up their wraps, her purse, and Tonya and said, “Let’s do this again, soon.” But she thought, “not bloody likely.” Off she went leaving the woman speechless.

 

 

III

 

The woman was lost in a flood of thoughts and realizations and hardly noticed their departure. She looked at the boat and spoke aloud, “I never meant for you to be art. I heard you speak before you were made, telling me how to make you. I made you and I have kept you right there, trapped since that day when I put down my whittlers knife and said it is done. You are not art. You are my child. It doesn’t matter that you are a boat. You are my child. It is wrong for me to not let you be a boat!”

 

With a heavy heart but a certain and proud soul, the woman took the little boat from the mantle and headed for the village, which was next to an ocean. She looked out on the harbor and thought, “The water is much too deep here.” She walked away from the harbor full of piers and other boats and headed towards a sandy, isolated beach. But when she got there, she shook her head “no” because the waves were too rough. So she walked further until she found a small inlet with trees and water plants. “This” she thought, “will be safer.”

 

She knelt beside the brackish water and placed the boat at the edge of the water. The boat did not move. So the woman leaned over until her face touched the ground and with all of the strength she had, she blew upon the tiny sail. Soon the boat moved slowly away from the shore. The woman continued to blow until she was gasping for breath. Finally, the boat was far enough from the shore to catch its own breeze. It moved faster and faster away from the woman, down the inlet and towards the ocean. Long after the woman could no longer see her boat, she stood by the shore, sad and joyful tears falling silently.

 

IV

 

Many more years passed. The woman began to wither and with her, so too her garden. A great war was upon the world and the woman was often hungry and afraid. She couldn’t always get the seeds she needed for her garden, water was scarce, and fertilizer did not exist. All of the things she needed for her remarkable garden were scarce or gone. But the truth is, from the day she let the little boat go, the woman was ruled by a sadness that neither seed, nor water, nor fertilizer could overcome. Even without a war and scarcity, her garden would have withered along with her soul.

 

One day the woman went to the shore where she had let her tiny boat go. The shore was now a giant shipping pier. The woman watched the tugs bring the huge ships in and take them back to sea. While watching this busy enterprise, the woman heard someone calling, “Mother, mother it is me.” She looked up and saw a huge cruise ship.

The woman could not see over the bow or around the bulging sides to the stern. Again she heard, “Mother, it is me” and it seemed to be coming from the ship. She stared in disbelief, thinking someone was tricking her but again the voice said, “Mother it is me, your little boat all grown up.”

 

The woman gasped. How could it be? She must be mad. But she knew she wasn’t and she knew it was her little boat. She spoke silently with the boat as it spoke with her. “But how did you get so big, she asked?”

 

“I’ve sailed many places and the more I saw and learned, the more I grew. I am everything you made of me and so much more.”

 

The woman knew that what the ship said was true and suddenly she felt very small and afraid. In her small fear she could not see the ship for what it was but only for what it was not. She could not feel it was hers anymore and speaking from her small lost place she said, “Why are you a cruise ship? Don’t you know there is a war? Where are your guns? We need a war ship?”

first the ship felt ashamed, then angry. She waited quietly while these painful feelings passed and the said, “I am that I am. I am no good for fighting. I tried that and was seduced by the big guns, the pride, the importance of my work. But in my heart I knew I was no warship. So I followed my heart and became a cruise ship. Now when people need to dream, or relax, or venture to the unknown places, they come to me. When old lovers need to be alone again, they come to me. It is the best that I am.

 

The woman heard this but she missed the little boat, had missed it for years, so she said, “I gave you life. I set you free. I have lived dreaming of you. The least you could do is grow up into someone who could protect me. I have no need of dreams or foolish lover’s. I am hungry and afraid. Who has time for dreams?”

 

“But mother, I was your dream. You saw a boat in me and with your sharpest knife, made me. Can’t you see yourself in the same way and with the same faith and patience, carve yourself.

You gave me a mast always pointing to the stars. Raise your arms and eyes and find your own stars. You gave me sails to catch the wind, to move away from the shore. Breathe that same freedom into yourself, and you will go where you need to go. You made my hull strong so I could withstand the worst of the storms. Find that strength in yourself so you can withstand your own journey. You did not make me to be you. You must be you.”

 

The woman heard these words but they stung. She turned her back on her boat and said, “You have deserted me in my time of greatest need. I will die and you will be entertaining lovers.”

 

These words were most difficult for the ship to hear and she was tempted to give up her life and beg her mother for love and understanding. Again, she waited for the pain of her mother’s disappointment and despair to pass. When she found her voice and courage again she replied, “Mother, be sure, when the day really comes that you cannot carry yourself, I will be here to carry you away from danger. But to do so before you need it dishonors us both. I have as much faith in your abilities as you had in mine. Find your own way and then find me.” With those words said, the ship prayed they were not wrong and arrogant, she prayed her mother would not drop dead before her on the pier. “Please mother,” she begged, “find your own way…and find me.”

 

The mother was shaken but the busy pier rested for no one. Before she could respond to her daughter, the tugboats blasted their signals to let loose the lines that held the cruise ship fast. The mother watched as the ship swung around and headed out to sea. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard the cruise ship say just before it was out of range, “Mother, come find me.”

 

V

 

There is a tale that is told of a cruise ship on the blue ocean that is accompanied by a flying dragon. They appear to be friends and appear to be talking. But that’s just a tale, another tale at that, and we don’t believe in tales…do we?

 

 

 

SPIDERS

There Is More To Life Than Catching Flies

The spider lived at the edge of a vast meadow.  Her web was close to a now abandoned farmhouse.  She had lived in the house once.  Only once!  She was never going back inside again.  Don’t ask why.  It really doesn’t make too much sense to most people.  It’s just that the spider was different and there was this closed-in, the-air-never-moved feeling in the farmhouse. Besides, the spider’s webs were unusual too.  Somehow, being different felt easier outside than in.  Even so, her difference was still noticed and lest she forget, other spiders reminded her.

“What is that!” asked a particularly rude garden spider on a typical day.

“It’s my web,” house spider responded in her most matter-of-fact, let’s-not-make-a-big-deal-out-of-it voice.

“Well it’s no good for catching flies.  The spaces are too wide and your silk winds all over everywhere.  What were you thinking when you made it?”

“I was thinking of a painting I saw in the farmer’s house when I lived there.  He called it the Mona Lisa.  Of course I can’t replicate the colors but the lines are fairly accurate.  I think I’ve captured the feeling of the piece.”  Read the rest of this entry »

For the child inside:

Hawk flew over the world. Hawk saw the world just beginning to green and she dreamed of a dark blue sky, a blue that was almost black, filled with hawks. While the air was still cold and needles and leaves fell to the ground like the rain that was soon to come, Hawk searched for a mate. Her intended mate lived many cypress stands away and did not welcome hunting competition, even if it led to offspring. Hawk circled his slash pine, screeching loudly and flying high and low, challenging this potential mate for his hunting ground. Her intended mate flew above her and dove with his wings tucked in, intending to end the life of Hawk. But Hawk rose just before his beak plunged into her heart and enticed him into a death/life aerial ballet that led to Hawk flying home with two fertile eggs in search of a nest. Read the rest of this entry »

For the Child Inside:

I.

Bull was big, much bigger that any bull you are used to!  He was a black and white Fresian, almost 7 feet tall (think basketball tall) and weighed more than 2,500 pounds (depending on the season).  That’s more than a ton of bull no matter what kind of ton you use.  Now, a good steak weighs 8 ounces.  If all of Bull could be turned into an average good steak, he would provide you with 5,000 of them!  That’s how big he was.  If it takes a village to raise a child, Bull could feed the whole village.

Fortunately, Bull was used for stud and not for steak.

Bull was something to be prized and everyone, human or not, treated him that way.  He had a private pasture overlooking acres and acres of other pasture inhabited by a very large herd of cows.  Bull’s job was to service the cows so they could produce calves, but he only worked 2 months a year, and even that was just 2 weeks on and 2 weeks off (so he really only worked one month a year).  True, while other bulls would service 6-8 cows a day, Bull would average more than a dozen.  So his production ratio was much higher than the average bull.  But calves aren’t about how many times.  They are about how many shots score.  And he didn’t disappoint.  Cows serviced by Bull produced and that was that!

Read the rest of this entry »

For the Child Inside:

The monkey lived in an ancient cypress tree in the very middle of a swamp. She had lived there all of her life, the only monkey in a swamp of wondrous creatures too numerous to count. Many monkeys, including some people, feared the swamp creatures and believed the swamp was a dark and treacherous place to live. Leaves and snakes slithered through cypress roots. Alligators lurked just below the water, visible eyes and nostrils anticipating an opportunity to leap from the black water and drag an unwary creature to a suffocating death. Plants and spiders stung. Bears and big cats waited at the swamp’s edge ready to devour anything trying to leave or just rest on dry ground. All in all, the swamp had a very bad reputation. But the monkey loved it and she felt safe in her tree. After all, it was her tree. From it she could get everything she needed to live. None of the other creatures bothered her as long as she stayed close to her tree. Many of the creatures were her friends, teasing her whenever she strayed too far from her cypress with shouts of, “You better get your monkey tail home right now or I’ll just have to have you for dinner.” Read the rest of this entry »

For the Child Inside:

In a land none of us have ever seen, in a valley perfect and green, lived a very curious girl.  She was old enough to spend whole days away from home but too young to be a woman interested in love and a home of her own.  The girl was known to be more curious than most.  When her grandfather tried to catch her image with a camera, the photograph showed the girl with her head tilted to the side trying to catch what was in the camera.  Once she stayed up night after night waiting to see who left those silvery trails on the wet grass and where they went.  The girl used to ask why about everything but found it irritated everyone.  She gave it up and settled for observing things herself until she discovered the why of it.

The valley the girl lived in was surrounded by mountains so high and treacherous there was not a pass in or out of her village.  The girl wondered where they all came from before the village but she was the only one who was curious.  Life was easy in the village.  Water flowed from the mountains, crops grew year round, the valley and hillsides provided enough lumber and stone for housing, and the weather was so mild and constant that neither heat nor air conditioning were required in their homes.  People died and were born at a rate that kept the population pretty much the same from year to year.  All in all, life was so pleasant it did not occur to most people to wonder where they came from.  But it did puzzle the girl. Read the rest of this entry »

For The Child Inside:

I

Pearl loved Pig.  Don’t worry yourselves about how that is possible.  Just believe that it was so.

Pearl lived in a solid gold ring.  Pig?   Well, Pig lived in a sty.  Three times a day Mrs. Farmer removed Pearl from her baby finger, right hand, and placed her on the windowsill overlooking the back yard and the sty.  From that perch, Pearl watched Pig and dreamed of a Pearl/Pig wedding.  Pig was large.  Pearl was not.  Pig grew and grew and grew.  Pearl did not.  Pig changed his world; rooting and tooting and looting anything in sight.  Pearl?   Pearl just was; beautiful, but just Pearl.

Most days on the sill, Pearl called to Pig in her loudest but still pathetic check-me-out, how-can-you-not-notice-me voice, “Pig, Pig look at me!”  Pig never heard her.  Pig was busy.  Pig was wallowing and eating and…well, you know what happens after eating!  Pearl kept longing to be noticed.  In the morning and evening the sun cast long shadows of Pearl and she hoped Pig would notice.  Pig didn’t!  At noon the sun shone brightly on Pearl, drawing attention to her singular beauty.  Did Pig notice?  No!  Pig ate.  Pearl shadows or a Pearl shine did not look like food and they sure did not smell like food.  Pearl could not attract Pig’s attention from the kitchen windowsill.  That was that.  She needed another strategy. Read the rest of this entry »

For the Child Inside:

I. The History

Chicken was headstrong. Her grandmother said she was spoiled. Her mother said she couldn’t do anything for Chicken because she was so smart she didn’t need anything. Chicken thought this meant that grandmother didn’t like her and mother feared her. So Chicken felt alone and plowed through life with her head down and her ideas firmly fixed. What else are you going to do in such a circumstance?

All chickens are at first chicks. Chicks can aggravate and bewilder their grandmothers and mothers, but eventually they grow up and have to make the most of what they have. When Chicken grew up, she started working on an egg producing farm…free range. At first she was just glad to be on her own and with other chickens her age. But Chicken had very definite ideas about eggs and their value. When she found out that her eggs were sold to markets for human consumption, she was appalled! Read the rest of this entry »

For The Child Inside:

I

The tigers knew each other.  Their owners, a king and queen from different countries, showed them off at festivals and often their cages were placed side by side.

The king boasted that he was the mightiest ruler because he made his tiger ferocious with the simple point of his index finger.  He delighted in demonstrating the power for the festival crowds.  He walked slowly around the tiger’s cage, his pompous nose in the air and his eyes turned away from the cage.  Then in a flash he whirled around and pointed to his tiger, his smirk now a sneer.  His tiger leapt at the cage bars, snarling and biting, his sharp teeth causing heart-pounding fright in the on-lookers.

The king waved his hand across the air, shrugged his shoulders, and shouted loudly, “Who could be mightier than I who can cause such anger in a tiger?” Read the rest of this entry »