As my grandmother continues to transition from form to not,
I feel inducted into the perspective of interconnection.
Somehow, as I write and remember her,
So many beautiful faces surface in mind of living human family.
My mother said when her mother died that she became an orphan.
But can one ever truly be motherless?
We have all traveled here by the same means of transportation —
All nourished by the sea-like fluid of a womb,
Carried as we formed.
And even as umbilical chord was cut or fell off,
Does that truly terminate the bond?
Be careful with perception.
Perhaps, this is more about shape shifting then you could possibly imagine.
You have never not been carried.
The mother drum beats beneath your feet whispering,
“You’ve always been carried by me.”
Featured art by Vladimir Kush