Ask Me What I Love

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Ask Me What I Love
by Amanda Wolf Hara 


What do you love?  She asked 
and I felt the answer whoosh from my joyful core 
as if it were sunlight 
warming my skin
but from the inside.


I love...
My daughter.
But to say that is a narrow, straw-thin description of how I actually 
celebrate each and every moment 
knowing I-
/I/ 
was somehow cosmically appointed to witness and foster
the Becoming of this miracle.
It doesn’t begin to convey
the sheer exubulation that instantly springs up
flooding each cell of my body
with the rightness of her being in my life.
(So much so, that I have to invent words just to try and explain how I feel.) 


If I had a tail, 
I would wag it, 
full butt wiggle. 


Saying I love her,
telling you,
won’t ever begin to encapsulate
The simultaneous pride I have, 
or the sovereignty I possess
knowing 
That I am her mother.
Her mother. 
She’s mine, 
I’m hers, 
And there is literally
no force that can undo that.


Stand with that a moment, eh?
There is no force
that can undo that bond.
I am woven into her helix.
The Master Weaver 
pulled silk from me
to manifest this embodied 
phenomenon. 


So, that.
That is what I love.
I love living,
knowing that I am a willing participant in brushing against one of the most ancient 
and powerful
divine mysteries 
this world has ever known. 
And I get to hold it to me
Smell it
And sometimes tell it it needs to shower.


So, I guess,
thin and inadequate as it may be,
it has to suffice to say 
I love my daughter.