Or so I was told.
Yesterday I had the great privilege of speaking to a relentlessly strong mother. Not only is she a founder of her own company, a semi-professional Tango dancer, a cheerful lady, but she also struggles to come to terms with having a son with drugs, alcohol, and gambling addicts. A bad divorce, and a failing health. Her life is nothing that resembles mine, and I do not credit myself as being capable of saying "Yes, I understand."
As much as a feminist as I am. I have to admit that the first woman we learn from, in terms of our self identity and understanding of femininity, is usually our mothers. Our mothers shows us how to deal with the world around us, and how to deal with the world within us. Stripping away her social status, I see nothing but a heartbroken mother.
Our interaction was one of those precious moments when you are given the allowance to slip into the shoes of others, submerge in their life stories, and hopefully come out anew. Yes it's true. We all have our problems and our inner Dharma. Most are repetitive. But they are never the same, nor ever dull.
A mother's strength lies in the love for her children, so fresh and raw. As she speaks I sense her deep negativity and bitterness. Perhaps wealth was never her objective, but the acceptance of her child. The health of her loved one. Wishing for what God did not give her, is that a sin? Should she be content?
"Dream is a dangerous thing, don't dream."
Or so I was told.
By the one who never had the chance to do so.
I hope that whatever she choice to dream in the future, will be hers.
For once. In her insufferable life.
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