Ya’ateeh’ Shi Ya azh, a’we’. “My beautiful baby, my child”—a loving greeting of a mother to her son. Blessedly, this is the line I know well. My mother and all mothers draped their child in these tender words of affection. Unconditionally. I glow in the knowledge that I have a mother that gently releases this truth. I was always told that we need to be conscious of this bond, beginning with the first cry cast into the heavens. This seat in the heart is nurtured and protected from neglect. We all have this most sacred of all connections with our mothers. We are indeed blessed for being loved, having been loved. My own mother, in her late 70’s, still walks far out on the sagebrush flats with the goats. She is not alone; she knows she is cared for.
Maybe some of you know my mother from my painting “In My Mother’s Kitchen.” Here’s my version of that painting in words:
Fragrance of fresh tortillas and corn stew
Fills my mother’s kitchen
Sparsely furnished
Crowded with warmth
Soot-grayed walls, secretive and blank
She moves gently in and out of light
Like a dream just out of reach
The morning light gives her a halo
That plays upon her crown of dark hair
Strong brown hands caress soft mounds of dough
She gazes out into the warming day
Past sagebrush hills, out towards the foot of Black Mesa
How far would she let the goats wander today
Before it rains
Childhood dreams and warmth
Tight in my throat, tears in my eyes
The radio softly tuned to a local AM station
News of ceremonies and chapter meetings
And funerals
Flows into the peaceful kitchen
Lines upon her face, features carved of hard times
Bittersweet tears and ringing silvery laughter
I ache in my heart
My mother’s gentle movements light up dark corners
Her gentle smiles recall childhood dreams still so alive
My mother move sin and out of light
Like clouds on days of promising rain.
Na has Dzaan, shi ma’. Prayers of goodwill, of protection, and gratitude all begin with this line, “My Mother, the Earth … in the blessing of and in communion with all she nurtures, all who call her Mother …” It is the maternal in all of God’s creation that wills us into being. This I was told. Knowing we came from the sacred canal and respecting its sanctity, the goddess being we all journeyed through, is our final saving graces. Knowing that, we are in the gentle breath of the Great Mystery.
I know so many wonderful and strong mothers. The mother of my four amazing children is surely an example. She is strong, even stronger than I give her credit for. She guides and nurtures, and still is an anchor for our children. Now my eldest daughter is a mother twice, and expecting the third. I see how passionate she is about her beliefs, and that her daughters are fed by that energy. I see what a strong and wise woman she has become. She teaches her children Navajo, how to count, how to greet, and how to pray, while so far away from her own homeland. When we recently visited her in Alaska, I saw her build a bookshelf to hold the kids’ books. On her own, she went to the lumber store, chose the boards, did the math, brought home the lumber. All afternoon we heard sawing drilling, hammering, sanding in the garage as the little girls ran in and out. Her efforts produced a very fine handmade bookshelf. As a family, we painted the wood beautiful colors, with magical fairies and mermaids and spirals. The building, the care she took in its construction, is the way she mothers her children. She designs, smooths out, measures, nurtures, embellishes their lives with colors.
I wish a Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers. I derive much of my strength and faith in humankind from witnessing you. To all of you, Shi ma, ba hozho. Shi ma, Shil ‘iil ‘i. “My mother, the beauty of it all, and in this I find much to be thankful for.” The goddess in all of us remains.
