There is something about a mother's lap that can provide a certain level of safety and peace that connects with all beings on a core level. Rag monkey mom named garage bands threatened to make an appearance across small towns as high schoolers in psy classes laughed so they wouldn't cry. That they too longed to simply be held. It's something that great minds have pondered on for years. There are volumes on the single subject alone. That innate animalistic need, desire, to simply belong in the arms of a mother. From that foundation, all else is born. Infants are coddled and swaddled and fed. But what happens if something breaks that connection. Cracks that secure foundation from where all is born. That well of open arms and soothing words runs dry. Two humans crying at opposite ends of the house. Both in mourning over separate losses. Attachment theorist lay it out. Freud and Jung have pondered around these issues for far too long. Anxious, avoidant, insecure, anal, ill. But the screaming and silent toddlers of yesterdays stranger experiment have become today's adults. Don't tell me my crutches are the problem when I don't have two legs on which to stand. To turn inside out in a search for answers only to hear the oracle tell me "I am the I am." Being, Breathing. A woman now with her own soft arms and warm lap. Don't mistake my words for a crucifixion. We're all just pillars of salt and sand. Unsure if we're running towards or away from the light or the city of sin. So I'll pull myself into my lap and dry my tears. Not to stop the pain, but because of it.
May the circle be unbroken.