When my son is captivated by something, or fiercely concentrating, one of his hands unfurls into a Christ or Buddha-like shape, palm facing out, open, with a tiny, delicate cascade of pearly nails, pads, metacarpals. I wonder to myself as I watch him, what have we built on? What are the oldest memories before the memories, like the dark ones of Ireland or the Appalachians? There was a time when each new life was seen - truly seen - by the entire community, the tribe; it was luminous. Each movement, each posture, flexion, shape, was noted by the watchful eyes of the powerful mothers. Remember that women once held the seat. And slowly, they began to see the patterns, the similarities between the movements and postures of each new life. They regarded them as holy, as coming forth completely intact from an unbroken source. Our interpretations are built on the first truths, when nothing was anonymous. The mudras of a perfect being - I see now that so much of what we see as God-like comes from what we come from, our infant selves. The mothers saw these, gave them names, and what they observed was listened to with reverence.
My son and I touched bellybuttons today and I began to cry as I explained to him that his belly was kissed by my belly, which was kissed by my mother's belly, and so on. Like a beam of light breaking different frequency barriers, or points in the spider's web, our lives are marked by these imprints of our mothers. How appropriate that they are unique in all the world, like the Little Prince's rose.
Matthew, 10:30, “And even the very hairs on your head are numbered.” This too, comes from an older source. When I nurse my son, my eyes swirl as they follow each curl and lock, and it is true that I do know each hair on his head. I imagine women who have done this since the beginning of time, who have watched the child's eyelashes sprout one by one after their babe is born.
We are the matrix, the bearer of gems. The secret to knowing a deeper history is to look to the embedding stone. The madrigal, the perfect love song who comes from the matrix, the womb, is the babychild.