Buddhism

...to me because I am a mother.

This is just my personal reaction to this beautiful poem.

It is easy to understand the poem intellectually, but to truly understand the poem, you have to be able to let go.

I am the mother who watches her son laugh upon the lawn at dusk
with a halo of fireflies
I am the mother who buries her starved child at the side of the road and continues
to march out of Somalia

I am the mother who smoothes her son’s hair in the sunlight bus stop
I am the mother who…
…it can’t be said.

Letting go of one’s attachments is a constant practice, and so difficult when you think of what there is to lose.

When all joys and pains are one—the world we live in—every terrible possibility is embraced. It is easier to live in the world untrue, especially when you fear one of those possibilities touching your child.

In my personal search for enlightenment, it is hard for me to even talk about this issue. I am reluctant to invite being tested on it.

For disclosure, since it’s my first time posting here, I am not a Buddhist, in that I don’t identify as a Buddhist. I love Buddhist literature and stories and teachings and ideas. I love literature from many philosophies, religions and traditions.

(My father has said that he is a Buddhist.)

I love this poem, and I believe in its truth. It rips me open, and in this moment, brings to me a place where I stop, scared. That’s where I am.

Thanks for sharing.