Crimson Morning

It was not the best time of my life ... those teenage years. I was a good kid, mostly because I did not want to awaken my father's anger. He was kind too ... I now understand he was hardest on himself and we, my mother, my sister and I, were to him a reflection of who he was.

There was fire between him and my mother. I watched the mystery growing up of that shared love. The look that passed between them often, how he touched her in the small of the back and she turned her clear blue eyes to look into his dark brown eyes.

But daddy expected perfection of himself and her. She was a beauty and young to be my mother ... only 17 1/2 when I arrived. My mother with her curvy figure and curly Blondie hair was beautiful in any color but she loved crimson red. Daddy was okay with that most of the time, but once, when mother, my sister and I were dressed and ready to walk out the door for church, he insisted mother change her dress because "good women did not wear red to church".

I was angry with him - "Not a nice thing to say to my mother" - my mother was always a good woman. So what if she favored bold red lipstick -- so did most of her friends.
They were good women. It was just silly of him to be so angry over a color.

With tears, mother dutifully changed her dress and dried her eyes. My sister and I waited quietly, my daddy fidgeted with his new paper, never looking up. Mother, wearing a soft blue number, walked gracefully pass us to the kitchen, checked her Sunday roast, telling Carlene and I to gather our Sunday school books for church. Daddy sat in his easy chair with his paper. Daddy had "enough" of church growing up but he wanted "his girls to be ladies and go to church."

I knew my life was good but I guess it was clear that I was upset. As we walked to my mother's car, (Mother never missed much) ..."You know Allison, your daddy loves us and wants what is best for us always. Look what he just gave you. How many girls have their own car"?

As I climbed into the front seat of mother's car, I felt a little guilty for being angry at him. I thought of my cardinal-red Volkswagen he had just given me for my sixtheenth birthday. "The car is red", was all I could think. I was still pissed at him for talking to my mother like that ... and so was she.

All three of us "ladies" were silent, gloom filled Mother's sedan. Driving to church, Mother said softly but distinctly to Carlene and I, as she tightly gripped the stirring wheel looking straight ahead, "Never let a man tell you how to dress or wear your hair". Carlene and I were quiet, listening, filing her words in our hearts.

The church building grew into site. I looked at my beautiful mother, her dress matched her blues eyes, no more tears but they were sad. She breathed deeply and a soft smile crossed her face as she prepared to meet her church friends. She was strong. I was proud of her and I would remember her words.

WHAT MATTERS NOW ...

What matters now? They are beckoning to me, these people who look so different than myself ... their look is exotic, dark skin and eyes ... Native American. They have strong sharp features - his face is chiseled with the knowledge of the hunt to survive, to provide for his family. He appears the Eagle protector ... the seasoned warrior ... fearless of all things.

But She, the soft mother-earth ... SHE is the stronger. She shields him from the harshness of life - the pains of change - death and birth. He is renewed by her body. She inspires him to step forward - to create when he does not understand he creates. She grows their combined Spirit within and passes their Spirit to those that follow. He can not bear the thought of her crossing the veil before himself.

For her ... reality is that death is the doorway to greater understanding ... Spirit flows after the breathe ceases ... Spirit lives in the children produced from their bodies, moves in the air, and fertilizes the earth ... Spirit unifies them. Her mantra is "they will always be".

She is lion-hearted and shields him from his fears. They are one. He is strong for and from the lioness.

Forgiveness

The time will come when we will dance again.

That my heart and your heart will open and become as one.

We will remember time before this life.

We will remember the sacredness of our pledge.

Gratitude will fill our spirit for the lessons each taught and received.

Truth will open locked doors and love will enter in.

Joy will fill our being and we will dance again.