It is interesting that this particular word would jump out at me this morning, from my original handwritten list. Interesting too that, like so many of my other Goddess words, it can be both a noun and a verb.
As my readers know, in this lifetime I wasn't a mother. And I have a hunch that in many of my lifetimes I was a more solitary soul -- a nun, priest, shaman, queen, even a hermit. In most of these cases, my memories aren't clear, more like impressions. However, I do have pretty clear memories of one lifetime when I shared my life with an extraordinary man, and had two children. I remember the experience of holding the babies, protecting them, making sure they were well fed and clothed. I remember them sleeping peacefully in a handmade wooden cradle. I remember them at my breast, and then, in time, my anxious moments as they started to walk and become independent. I also remember with a great deal of fondness how their father cradled them in his arms, giving them a different solid experience of protection and love.
When I expand this notion out, I find myself believing that earth was originally meant by the Goddess to be a cradle for humanity and all life. A place of nurturing, love, safety, and generous amounts of food and clean water. We were meant to rock gently on the landscape, to find comfort in protected spaces out of the wind, to nest at the base of trees and in caves and simple homes made of stone and wood. This was meant to be the framework for a life lived in constant awareness of the holiness of all creation. Despite experiences frequently being harsh or difficult, our connection with the Great Mother would have been a daily comfort, a constant embracing reminder of our oneness with every corner of the vast universe.
So when and why did we, effectively, dump the baby out of the cradle? Why have we filled this precious little vessel with toxins, and used it as a backdrop for unspeakable horrors? Many of us must be so traumatized right now that we cannot possibly really imagine being cradled gently, lovingly, protectively. On this rainy day in June, such a notion seems particularly hard to visualize, doesn't it? And yet maybe if some of us take just one minute today to cradle something -- an animal, a loved one, a stuffed toy, a beloved blanket or item of clothing, a tree or boulder -- perhaps ancient memories will kick in. (Alternatively, cradle yourself in a hammock or blanket.) Let us allow ourselves to cradle or be cradled. Perhaps it will help us remember a mother instinct that is sorely needed right now.
