who are we?

who are we?
that is what my daughter asks me several times a day.
she means, where are we.
but i often wonder....

who are we?

what i know for sure that we are NOT:

our bodies
our parents
our childhoods
our hometowns
our friends
our cars, clothes, bank accounts, the house we live in, our memories, our children, our scores on our tests, our flaws and faults, our husband/wives, our sadness.

what i think we are? (hope we are)

the souls living in our bodies
our dreams
our instinct
our laughter
our lessons
our hopes
our wishes, our good deeds, our wisdom, our kindness, our love.

not to be all utopian about it all or anything.

my dreams are sometimes so vivid i can taste them- the day after the full moon moon light flooded in my bedroom last night, my daughters sleeping on either side of me, all girly breath and pure sweetness, and the room was lit up and you know moon light is silvery and ancient feeling and liquid and cool and powerful and mysterious and otherworldly and my dreams were infused with that kind of moon light and it felt so poignant to be dreaming there and i wondered if i have dreamt before with my daughters around me, if i have known them before, or they me, and time slowed and i all i could here was the breeze and the ticking of the clock and the silvery moonshine and tears filled my eyes because i feel like, almost, that my daughters girlhoods are already gone, somehow, or perhaps it is because i know that they will not stay little girls and so every day i try to remember this sacred act of being their mama.

of course, i cannot possibly hold that in my thoughts constantly or i would never get anything done, i would want to hold them to me as close as possible for ever.

i see myself aging in the mirror and while i admit there are no longer many reasons to be vain, i have a sense of peace that i assume only comes with age since i certainly did not have it when i was young and in the throws of being beautiful.
i may no longer have that same kind of beauty but my goodness, i have made up for it in a sense of humor and a lot more peace.
so.
time marches on.
my nasturtiums, lavender, basil, rosemary and geraniums continue to grow. this pacific northwest weather continues to perplex me. i hold on, fiercely but gently to the dreams that are my own only, i sleep and nurse my baby and laugh with my three year old and wash grapes and swing swings and read books and pray and eat and watch as my life gently shifts s l o w l y~

who are we?

i look into my daughters eyes and see the women they will become.
i seem to be turing into a psychic witchy woman, no longer afraid of death or dying or being alone.

that is not to say i do not feel sad or mad or bad.
i do, sometimes.
but something is happening to me- it is internal, perhaps it is lack of sleep and too much coffee and uncertainty about the future, but i am changing.
and it is quiet and real and strong.
its like all of a sudden i am accepting my self- my childhood, my past, my parents, my body, my life.

there is something in my fingertips- i feel creativity sparks shooting out from them.....

another day, the same, but NOT.

tomorrow i will try to be better.

who are we?