Lindsay L. O'Connor

My Mother’s Song

In a world where shame all but screams,
“Not enough! Not enough!”
I hear a Holy whisper say,
“Maybe there is more.”
We say we trust and hope,
but our clenched fists give us away.

We’ve been told for so long,
in so many ways,
the lie of “Not enough.”
Scarcity chases us into survival mode
begetting competition and hierarchy,
suspicion, self-protection,
and grasping for whatever we think
we have a chance to get,
without stopping to ask
if it is what we need, or even want.

Then, with our fists bulging 
with all the stuff
we’ve thoughtlessly acquired,
we ache with hunger
and dissatisfaction,
wondering how we could 
possibly be dissatisfied
when our hands are so full.
 
We begin to glimpse the things
we truly need or desire,
and envy creeps in.
Shame’s insidious voice tells us
we aren’t satisfied because we
are ungrateful, greedy things,
unworthy of our deepest desires
and most desperate needs.
 
Still, the truer voice whispers,
“But maybe there is more.”
When it all becomes
too much to bear-
the discomfort of
the bloating caused
by being filled with food
that doesn’t truly nourish…
perhaps, we think, 
it might be time to let go.

As things begin to fall away,
our empty hands 
bear the scars of scarcity.
The emptiness greets us 
like a stranger.
“Make space, make space,”
Holy Mystery chirps
a song of encouragement,
singing over us
as we examine the aftermath.
 
When all has fallen away,
we can become familiar
with our Selves again.
“Listen to the sound of your own soul,”
Mother God advises.
“She’s been there all along.
Can you let her out?”
Mother God asks gently,
witnessing me witness myself
and the divine imprint I find within.

Suddenly, I know, 
in a way that cannot be unknown,
the joy of one who waits 
in hopeful anticipation
of the divinely appointed gifts,
chosen deliberately with great care
and intimate knowledge of which
food will best nourish my deepest cravings
and most desperate needs.
 
Shame still has the audacity to speak:
“Not enough! Not enough!”
but I have attuned my ears
to my Mother’s song:
“Something more, something more,
something more is coming.
Just wait a moment here
while I prepare it for you.
With this nourishment,
you will be equipped to nourish.”

My empty hands
lift in surrender—
Or was it praise?
One mingles with the other—
for only empty hands 
can receive
what must be given.

~Lindsay L. O’Connor