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January 17, 2022
Saved Her in Our Cells
Channelled Message through Kohenet Annie Matan
Oh Mama, You're here.
Inside me and around me,
teaching and reminding me
to mother myself
with kindness first.
Gods! Too many generations of pain,
layers and layers
of hurt,
of not enough
of striving,
barely surviving,
being pulled away from You
from truth
by force.
Again and again,
until we were left
in listless, hopeless heaps
of pain and loss,
Dor l’dor,
generation to generation.
We were feasting on scraps,
and believing
that was all there was
and would ever be
for us,
for all.
We gobbled the lie
that we were unloved
because those crusts
were all we could get our hands on.
We fought over
Nothingness
until our bellies heaved
exhausted,
and our grief, compounded,
wore away our bodies
until we were naught but
skin stretched over brittle bones.
And there we felt
only Your absence.
And now,
after centuries of starvation,
You hold out
cups of steaming broth,
made from the marrow of Divinity
of our ancestors bones.
You say, “Drink.
their starvation and suffering
will not be in vain.
They saved the best for you.”
But…
it hurts sometimes to take You/Them in.
I want to take big, greedy gulps
but that leaves me queasy.
And one small sip at a time
feels cruelly slow.
Sip.
Rest.
Sip, (so much effort to clasp the earthen vessel and hold it shaking to my parched lips to slurp hot, liquid Goddess, swallow past the lump of despair, fall back against Your pillowy breast and breathe, catch my shuddering breath.)
You remind me to take all my time.
The elixir in the cup stays warm.
Always ready.
So I lean back
and let my body surrender
to softness.
One breath, limb, heartbeat, bone
by one.
Just hold me Mama.
In this truth of You
that somehow,
some dormant cells in me never forgot.
You've been secreted away
deep in my DNA
and are unfurling again inside me.
I did it. I held on.
I saved myself/You.
I died. Over and over.
I lied to protect what I prayed was true.
In each death, I cried with relief
when I returned to You.
And each time, You nurtured and nourished me
and set my soul back on its path.
Born again and again
to find You and hold on, somehow
despite it all
every time.
I am so tired.
Resting, alive in Your embrace,
my heartbeat,
the flesh on my unbroken body
tells me
this time is different.
I'm alive
and You are with me.
I am awake.
And You are real.
I've carried You inside me
from generation to generation.
We have.
For this lifetime, (please Goddess!)
is Your time, our time.
Your children rise with You.
We dance with Your light and Your shadow.
We sing Your songs.
We find You in each other.
Life, life, life.
We lift each other up,
restore, nurture and tend each other
healing wounds of forgetting
once and for all.
Our hands are Your hands.
Our feet are Your feet.
Our voices, Your voice.
Our foes are You.
We remember. We honor. We live.
I rest now.
Surrender to healing,
nestle into You
and feed slowly on the medicine of
my Becoming.
I am not afraid.
I am here against all odds.
You are with me.
I am alive. And I am here.
That is enough.
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