last night I was a young woman

Yesterday's full moon got me thinking a lot about being a young woman on a grand life journey.


I spent the day with four generations of women - my friend Bean and her baby Tala, her mom, and her grandmother at their home. Her grandmother was on her last while on morphine with machines wired into her system. During lunch I heard about the pain of child birthing through Bean's experience and the love story of her grandmother during the war and how love letters were sent across from her dashing grandfather who was a soldier. Just like my grandparents, her grammies were soldier and teacher. My lolo was a Captain and my lola a public school teacher. Listening to their common story of  courtship in the classroom halls and raising a family during the war got me reflecting.
 
In the old days love was so simple.


Last night, I was a young woman under the full moon longing for my beloved.

For the longest time I associated with Rumi, Hafiz, and the saints I grew up reading about who pined for God as Beloved. When I hear devotional music, it always makes me cry maybe because apart from being a cry baby, there is that deep longing artists have to be one with something greater. Maybe its the drama of the separation from God that has been the story of humanity. My teacher has pointed this out to me about my character. He said that if I soon realize I am no longer separate from God and that God is within me, I will no longer be longing for God or for love.

But I am young and 28.

I am in love with an explorer. I am still on a journey of Being Love and to finally meet God within me. I get scared of losing myself everyday. Maybe because I am still young. Maybe naive. Maybe lost on the spiritual path, drunk. Maybe because I'm an artist full of passion. Maybe I'm not grounded enough. Maybe maybe maybe.

Maybe it was the full moon and the idea of love letters and memoirs.

Last week I met a Danish girl who read her great great grandmother's journal as a young woman in her travels and she shared about an experience when she met men and avoided them..The next day, I read a friend's blog about writing her grandmother's love story and autobiography. The other day, I blogged about the ancestral sacred feminine in the Babaylan. The entire week was like a scene from Pocahontas where she asks Grandmother Willow for guidance. Yep that's me - Pocahontas. I had a dream once about having a Native American spirit guide among other signs that connect me with affinity with them.

Last night, I was a young woman reminiscing how she met a beautiful white young man exactly one year ago. It was a beautiful ceremony with interfaith songs and dances, mandalas, and children. We grew in deep friendship first then grew into conscious love, stumbling in between with clumsy feet of conscious patterns, and sometimes, madness (like last night).


Last night, I was a young woman who sang lullabies, love songs, and spirit songs to a 3 month old baby and a dying grandmother. It was a beautiful profound experience. It helped me reflect on the important roles of widwives who usher in life to earth and those who usher the dying to the after life. The singing helped increase her oxygen levels and probably helped ease her pain as I sang more spiritual songs with my friend Nota. My last song for her was called Homeward Bound, a song I wanted to sing for my Lola during her funeral. I knew she was ready to go. I whispered my goodbyes and thanked her for the beautiful life she lived, and for her story of love that brought about beautiful generations.

She passed away later on...
last night.

Last night, I was a young woman wondering what I will tell my granddaughter someday.  Will she like my love story right now? Will she love my adventures or rather, misadventures? Will I be able to continue telling my story?