So alone they were. So lonely. The cold world turned away from them. Fear spread.
What remained? What remained was to turn to their mother. To their own inner being. To the soul. To their own femininity. To their own motherliness. To the being that always accepts them. No matter when and where and how. No matter how good or how bad the judgement of the outside world may have been. There, with the mother, the battered and world-shaken consciousnesses found their footing again. They were carried, held and nourished in eternal security. In silence. In certainty. In resting strength.
Everything seemed so good…
And then suddenly. And suddenly there the tide turns for them in the world. They are in it again. No longer lonely. They are heard. And like to hear themselves all the better now. They are in the thick of it. The loneliness, the separation from the outer world has passed. No longer do they feel the suffering of loneliness. The lonely child who was still crying yesterday stretches towards the distant sky with great self-assurance.
And then the mother is forgotten. Forgotten then is the feminine, which selflessly held and nourished the lonely child trembling with fear. Forgotten is one’s own inner self.
And the child grows and grows, becomes a puffed-up fat man and soon sits fat in his greasy leather chair on the raised pedestal. His throne. The legs stretched out wide, the privates stretched out to the neighbor, the cigar in the corner of his mouth he judges right and wrong. Talks and talks and hears himself talk. Intoxicated by the yes, yes, yes. Angry about no, no, no. Knowing nothing, but always suspecting. Being right and anticipating. Always thinking. Never asking questions. Always clever. Always on top. Always knowing everything, even when completely clueless. It’s the pose that does it. And the tone, smart, just, ultimate. Alone, intoxicated by himself and by his own grace. Nothing above, nothing behind.
The mother, the resting, the bearing, the surrendering, the feminine has long since been locked back in the cesspit. The Child has forgotten how small and frightened it was when it did not have the external circumstances that were favourable to it. Forgotten that it was the mother, the feminine, that nurtured him. That only she allows him to live through selfless eternal certainty, only she provides him with the basis for his being. Forgotten that she is the eternal. Always constant. Always there for him. Always selflessly giving to him. Forgotten…
This is what man does with himself. This is what man does to his counterpart. This is what society does in the materialistic delusion. This is what humanity does to Mother Earth. There is no difference.
And it always started so well…
I am tired of seeing over and over again this pompous, self-satisfied, self-drunken lunatic in man and woman regain strength and smear over all real knowledge. After the mother, the forgotten one, the devalued one, the marginalised one, has tended to all the wounds and nursed the child back to health….
I am tired of seeing again and again only satiated and safe and the end justifies the means. And then again and again only the animal, the pure naked animal self-assertion reigns, leaving everything but itself behind and beneath. Which abandons everything but itself to destruction without hesitation.
Sometimes I don’t know how to go on like this. Then I turn back to the Mother and recognise the eternal truth. I recognise the meaning again. And can again carry, hold, nourish and last….