Hands of the Grandmother

On February 1st, we (in the Northern Hemisphere) arrived at the half-way mark between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox.  While there is still plenty of snow on the ground here in Cincinnati, and there are the below-freezing temperatures that will keep it around, the days are getting noticeably longer.

In the January edition of this blog, I described my experience at the retreat last year where I journeyed to a Mayan Abuela (Grandmother) that refilled my heart with honey.  I have journeyed to visit her a couple of times since then, most recently during a few weeks ago.  During that visit with her, I had a deep longing to hold her hands in mine.  At the same time I was remembering holding my aunt’s hands and looking into her eyes, as the world around us dissolved, at my uncle's celebration of life a few weeks prior.  Recalling those moments with my aunt immediately brings tears to my eyes - it is a cherished memory.  The poem below is the overlap of these two memories.  

The Hands of the Grandmother

Grandmother, it is good to see you again 

And to hold your hands in mine. 

The bones I feel through your skin 

Are both strong and brittle.

Forged and broken down by time, 

By labor, by caring, and sweet caresses. 

Hardened by Truth,

And chipped from defending what you love. 

Grandmother, it is good to hold your hands 

And feel the sinew and muscle 

That makes those bones move. 

Muscle that has kneaded much dough, 

That has gripped needles. 

And heavy pitchers of Honey.

That have cast stones at men pretending to be brave, 

And gently delivered new life into this world. 

Grandmother, it is good to feel your hands touching mine 

Covered in skin that is both velvet and rawhide. 

Skin that has been burned, calloused, ripped, and renewed. 

That has been weathered by Sun and Ice and the wiping of tears. 

That are cool and burning with the light that they emit. 

Grandmother, grant me access to these hands. 

Share them with me as I look into your eyes. 

And tears fall

In Joy 

And in witnessing eons of sorrow, of grief, and of living.

If you join the retreat, you will be on the land that the Abuela tends and in ceremony that opens the doors and portals to where she is with her pitcher of honey.