Comments on another person’s second gallery experience, a return visit, another experiencer’s connection to “Confirmation” sculpture.
This writing was handed to me as a card.
The writer had experienced the sculpture pieces the year previous and had just returned to our home to introduce two friends to his Island experiences.
Toward the latter part of a lengthy sculpture tour for the two friends and the card writer there occurred an abrupt interruption. The card writer had been sitting in on the presentation then abruptly dashed out to his vehicle mumbling something to the effect of “I know now what that card was for!” He had apparently picked up the card months earlier while traveling in New Mexico.
He handed me an envelope.
On the envelope was written, “Mother.”
Hmm…Am I to read a card that he has written to his mother?
To My Mother
When I met you, just one year ago,
I could not hear your voice.
You were there with the same words,
the same love, the same open arms.
I would not hear your message to me.
My ears were full of ego.
You have not changed, not altered.
It is I who has changed.
Some channels have been opened
since last we met, ones long closed.
Enough layers of my self-spun cocoon
have been peeled away,
enough to hear your truth, enough,
to let you work your magic.
As I lay inside your womb more
layers were peeled away-dissolved!
You carried me, held me, loved me
my body melted inside of you
my mother.
You are the mother of us all,
extended, waiting,
patient.
Your womb was formed for me,
formed for us all – nurture of nature.
I wanted to let go, to pass through
your tunnel of embodiment,
but I could feel it was not my time.
I still have many layers to peel away,
lessons to be learned,
discoveries to be made.
This was part of your message to me.
My birth time is not now.
Although I have not come to full term
I feel I am close.
Lying cradled in your womb
I felt both anticipation and acceptance,
anticipation of my birth day when
I can pass through your tunnel of light,
acceptance of the worthiness of the
stage that I am at,
and acceptance of the coals
upon which I must still walk
– tests to be passed.
No matter the heat of the fire of purgation
you have affirmed my faith.
Thank you, mother, for never giving up,
never turning your back
even though I have turned mine
at times.
As I leave now I go in peace, love,
faith, trust, and with a kind
and a gentle heart.
Thank you for your blessing.
M.E.F.
The writer of that expression had just previously been lying inside “Confirmation” sculpture.
This comment is included as I suspect this person had some intention to understand some aspect of life and somehow at that particular moment something was expressed and a previous intention was resolved in what seemed to me to be a particularly beautifully expressive way.
An additional note. I feel compelled to include details of this “coinciding” incident!
This note pertains to both the long past visit of the writer of the “Mother” poem and a coinciding incident occurring when I was years later, compiling this intuitive creativity material, during a young traveler’s recent appearance at our home. I was at that time in the process of writing about the “To My Mother” poem incident.
A young person having traveled from a city in another province was, while visiting the Island, directed to our place. During the course of his stay, conversation at some point turned to a recollection from this young person mentioning having had a memorable teacher in his life. This teacher whom he referred to as Michael, had made a particularly positive impression on his life providing timely and appropriate guidance.
Only guessing this young person’s age and the time and the place he had been in school I made a rather bold statement. I said that I had a rather beautiful poem that his teacher had written, would he like me to read it?
He was both surprised and confused by my statement. How would I have a poem written by his teacher? I explained that I felt very strongly that it was his teacher that was, a few years ago, here at our home and that I was presently writing about this teacher’s poem. I read the poem. The amazed traveler confirmed that indeed the poem’s author’s last name was that of his former teacher.
I suspect this traveler was left a little mystified by the whole event.
I too was mystified and amazed. enveloped in a deep sense of confirmation that life was indeed a beautifully serendipitous unfolding.
