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On Meeting The Mother

If this life is a test, and at the end I meet my Maker, She might grade me on the following rubric:

Did you delve into the messy, warm, dark cavern of your own heart, and were you brave enough to live true to yourself?

Did you settle into your Goddesshood, that passionate and powerful part of me you always carried with you?

Did you give yourself to others, but not your whole self? Did you take care of others but realize caretaking your own soul had to come first?

On the other hand, She might have thrown out the rubric long ago, realizing it wasn’t true to Herself-

And She might meet with Her favorite book, and I’ll have mine, and we’ll swap stories that feed our souls.

Or She’ll meet me with a cup of tea and a look in Her eyes, both so warm that the chill is cast out of me forever.

Or maybe She’ll meet me with some trail mix, and as we hike out the years of love, frustration, heartache, and hope that were my life, I’ll follow Her dusty footprints and sweat-soaked, bandana-covered forehead into the sunset.


by Laura Riddle Parry

Woman in white sweater holding a white mug painted with flowers and roosters.