Mother's Gifts

A gift of image arrived last night. “A woman standing at the front, to speak to a roomful of men. Finally.” I was that woman, which means I was in that room. Yet I had not seen it as my companion saw it, spoke it. Such is the gift of companionship, of new seeing that reminds us we never see it all, even when we’re looking. So what was the room like? The front-standing? What does this new gift-image mean, beyond what I knew and saw?

Being there began with a promise made to new acquaintances over Turkish tea in Istanbul. Their teacher of blessed memory loved science as an awakening force to see Allah, to know Allah more deeply through the Book of the Universe. My teacher did too, before his journey concluded with an aneurism and the devoted singing of his colleagues around his hospital bed, sending him in unknown directions possible only with death. “Pursue the work of your teacher,” they asked, “in conversation with ours?” “If way opens,” I promised. Way opened, proposals were submitted, and interest in the work led to the drive to Cleveland one brightly lit, autumn Sunday afternoon. A non-Islamic scholar, fulfilling a promise by speaking a paper into a roomful of Muslim men, all of us intentionally faithful to a new path in companionship with a One I can only call Mother. A wilding One. Fierce. Gentle. Persistent. Embodied. Holy Mother, She Is. Glimpsed in Holy Writ, though so often silenced. Certain of Presence, unknown but for the path.

Driving up to Cleveland, singing lustily in the car with newly-learned chants and Mother’s circle-songs, I entered into a world hungry for knowledge, truth, companionship. A Muslim community of Light, new to me but unfolding graciously in path and time. I felt strangely at home, though surrounded by Turkish, Arabic, Russian-Muslim men. I can’t count the times I heard, “Ladies first,” as they made way for the only one amongst them. They listened as I spoke in the auditorium, though I know not how much they understood. Does token-presence unearth new abilities in others to listen? Certain of Presence, unknown but for the path.

An evening meal, joined by a woman-volunteer in their community, both our heads-uncovered, and then it was time to drive back. Late-night singing, chants and Mother circle-songs, and the path returned home. I know not all why it was important for me to go, to say what I had to say. I envision a new book project, a new way to continue upon the path that unfolds daily, hourly, as one footstep follows another on paths unseen. The gift-image suggests a tilting reversal, with peripheral awareness and love for those hungry for it. “Finally” could mean a “tit-for-tat” move of spirit, but I don’t think so, in the end. The Divine Mother, the Divine Feminine, the Gentling Fierce One who births the Divine Masculine does so with open-heart and vulnerable embrace. She knows the hunger that brings both together, for all to see and know something deeper, truer, than either alone. Perhaps the gift is to see this image with masculine-shaped osas—eyes—and share a part of the gift in return through the soul’s eyes, Hers and His both. Mother always has new things to say to her children, whether they know Her as She Is or not. How is She shaping me, us all, amidst the gifts and graces She’s offered? I honestly cannot say. This Mother’s Path comes naturally, yet feels so foreign. Certain of Presence, unknown but for the path.

So be it—for me, for you, for all of us.