So what of imagination when it’s splayed open, the little ones exposed and raising their voices like commercials in explanation: Look here, Mama, at the great invisibles; see the wolf in the curtain, the train come to take us, the deep water below the bed?
So what of it - when I give the yeah -yeahs and the uh-huhs? What of it dies down a little?
As a mother, now it is my honor to put out fires or to let them burn, and how can I know how to enter in without my own attentive imagination in tact and the power of empathy in force?
…continue reading at (in)courage.me.
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“I am a mother, a shepherdess of bleating souls. They squeal and play, and I can crouch down with them and show them how to give it to God. I can crouch down and learn how to hundred-fold envision, how to act out needy and how to act out pure.”
Wow. I feel like all I can do lately is quote what you say back to you. I hope you don’t mind.
Amazing