Thoughts On Being Matron

It’s another fresh new day. I sit in my usual ritual in the back yard at peace, reflecting on whom I’ve become. Wondering how I got here. Knowing its right somehow; serves some elusive purpose. Purpose different than purpose that’s gone before. Like all that’s been has taken it’s place in the archives of memory. The lessons and inspirations, a permanent piece of who I have become. It is odd sometimes to recognize that things only make sense in retrospect. Odder still, to be different than I have ever been.

I am matron now.

Still trying to identify what all this may mean, but knowing some things for sure. Knowing that I no longer have to follow the same rules as I did as mother. I can follow the rules that are rooted in the depths of my soul without fear that the path I follow will influence, endanger or otherwise impede on the rules of this society for what is right and healthy for it’s women and children.

Knowing I take better care of myself now; that I have more time for that. I let my hair grow long because I can . Because I like it that way and can afford the extra minutes it takes to wash and brush it. I take longer showers, close my eyes there and take long relaxing breaths with each cleansing caress of soap and splash of warm raining from the shower head. I walk around wrapped in towels for as long as I want then apply lotion to my skin before I dress. I choose my clothes as if it matters what I wear even when I’m not going out.

Knowing I have things to do and things to be responsible for. Not always the same as before. In some cases similar but altered; in other cases different and new altogether.

I know we are supposed to grow more patient with age, yet, I seem to be less so. I have less patience for chatter, for wasting time and energy which are both precious commodities. Less patience for tantrums and games and dishonesty. Less tolerance for the rules that serve to keep us in boxes. Rules designed by those who need to police those whom they view as needing outside forces to behave in a civilized obedient manner.

In other ways I grow, expanding my tolerance for the things I had less patience for before. My mind opens, pondering, exploring and accepting or rejecting the truth and reality of taking certain views and practices unto my self. I find myself questioning and examining most everything with a fresh sense of wondering and a depth that questions the questions that arise from the answers.

I only bake sweets for occasions now. I now use my kitchen for extracting the properties of herbs to tea or tinctures. I make healing salves and embrace the possibility of making candles and soaps. Drying bundles of herbs and flowers now hang were the clean wet clothes of a hundred children have hung before. The toy chest now holds fabric and yarns. The Un-Attached Child and The Ways of Disipline, have been replaced on the bookshelves with Women Who Run With The Wolves, The Women’s Ency. Of Myths and Secrets and The Herbal Home Remedy Book.

I hurry less, but seem to get more done. A revelation in and of itself.

I’m still lonely as I’ve always been from that deep unrelenting place that yearns for my people, but I now accept the possibility that it may not be resolved in this lifetime.

I expose myself to as many new experiences as possible. I read my first sci-fi recently; tried some new music both of which I find have value. I go on secret adventures; driving or taking trains to places I’ve never been before. I only tell others as much as they wish to know about those experiences and have begun to define the difference between secret and private. Secrets being those things we keep to ourselves that should be told. Private being those things that we have no obligation to tell but share as long as it doesn’t bring harm to self or the ones we share them with.

I sleep less but rest more.

I am free to make choices I could never make before. I follow my heart in these choices, some inner sense of right and wrong that doesn’t always parallel with societies code of morality guides me. I explore the difference between taking responsibility and falling prey to guilt. Recognizing the difference is the difference between healthy amends and self-pity. Practices I evaluate in myself and try to take responsibility for which it seems is an on-going process that stretches out before me to the end of many lifetimes.

I am more gentle in the way I use my hands and my words passing love in its purely indefinable way through them, yet I am more warrior like in drawing the lines that others are no longer allowed to cross. I still love unconditionally as long as unconditional is not defined as including a willingness to accept and be part of any behavior those I love chose to inflict on me or others.

I am more quiet and less silent.

-Betsy-
June 1999

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