letter to my daughter

 
Dear daughter of mine,

I long for you to know your own beauty, to look in the mirror and see the reflection of you that I see– beneath your sorrow, and fear, and pain. But beyond that, I suppose, I long for you to one day look in the mirror and see all your sorrow, and fear, and pain as beautiful. 

I long for you to find that place in yourself that sees and loves all — a safe, clear place where no thing can encroach to hinder your vision.

I long for you to find life …. most especially your own life.. to be beautiful and free.

I long for you to trust in your goodness, your wisdom, your grace. To know yourself as gift, to gift yourself with blessing.

I long for you to know the power of your voice, and your heart, and your womb.  To trust in your womanhood as blessed.

I know that you will have to experience much to find these things, for these knowings are not found on a gentle path.  It is easy to find life beautiful during breath-taking sunrises over vistas, but it is to truly know beauty when one sees it in the violence of hurricane. I know you will have to one day fall in love with yourself and so realize how life has sculpted you with such care, for you to begin to see life as artistry. I long for you to so fall.

I long for you to know love.  I long for you to be seen.  To know what it feels like to be loved in a way that sees the whole of you as you are and finds incredible beauty there. To know what it feels like to so see the whole of another as beloved.

I long for you to feel the incredible power of giving birth to something so precious it breaks your heart wide open … whether that birthing be child or art or some other thing that requires your specific body to nurture and bring it to life. To feel then the bittersweet pain/joy celebration of letting that thing go to experience a life of its own.

I long for you to be free from suffering… knowing you will never be free from pain, for to love is to open yourself to pain, and I would never wish for you a life without love, and to know pain is to open your heart to compassion and I would never wish for you a life without compassion…. but to be free from those definitions about pain — what it means about you, or life, or God — which bring you suffering.

I long for you to stop hurting.

I long for you to know passion and peace in the same breath.

I long for you to love even your fear, to hold it tenderly, to not leave it alone in the dark.

I long for you learn to love mystery, to let answers remain in its shadows, to lean into its dark embrace.

I long for you to own your wisdom, to bless your life, to dance in the mystery.

I long for you to laugh….. and then to cry at the terrible beauty of it all.

I long for the child you once were to inhabit your woman’s body. I long for the woman you are to trust in the joy of the child. I long for you to mother your child into life.

I long for you the end of striving, competition and measurements, of ‘not good enough’ and earning love.

I long for you an embrace, a gaze, tenderness.

I long for you time in the forest, by the ocean, in the desert, on the lake, under a million stars. I long for you to know the deep sacred nourishment of earth. I long for you time in the forest, oceans and deserts of your Soul, for you to know the deep sacred nourishment of spirit. I long for you a balance of  feet on the earth and wings in the air.

I long for you fresh water.

I long for you ease.

I long for you joy.

I long for you hope.

I long for you Love.

2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Traildancer
    Apr 21, 2011 @ 02:33:41

    What a beautiful letter! I plan to share it with my two daughters because you speak of a universal maternal desire.

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  2. emmaatlast
    Apr 21, 2011 @ 13:56:12

    my daughter had me up late last night. i had just finished the piece below, on water, when she called around midnight. i was so full of her pain and my longing when i hung up (as is frequently so) that i had to write it out, tell her here what she won’t let me say or can’t hear when i’m on the phone with her. there happened to be, on my desk next to the computer, a newly-arrived-in-the-mail book, entitled ‘letter to my daughter’, by maya angelou. and so i began….

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M.C. Reardon

photographer~painter~poet

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