beneath your height
rises and revolves
as the shoulder
of the giants
who bequeathed this life
and privilege to evolve.
Yesterday would have been my mother’s 83rd birthday. It was the first October 16 since her passing that I was not plowed under in a tunnel of thick astral fog. Blessed be.
I celebrated the day in service: in the morning operating a health technology that might have helped Mom see this birthday, and then later in fellowship with light workers helping to unburden all humans of the undertow which drew her asunder.
On these anniversaries, we like to honor those who gave us more than we can comprehend while they were alive. Sometimes we do so by calling up the memory of who we thought they were.
Eventually it feels healthier not to invoke the past, but to gratefully live as fully as possible with the gifts we carry, as they have evolved in us beyond the imaginings of the loved ones who contributed their seeds.
Our loved ones knew who we’d become no more than we did. And we knew who they were then no more than they could know who we’re becoming now. It never ends. They live on and evolve through every heart and body they touched, not only ours. As do we. Every meeting plants a seed. It is in remembering this every hour that we honor the gardeners of yesterday.