178: Mother
May. 11th, 2007 09:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
namoMother is not something I know.
Even Father is merely a word to me, the name of what created me.
The argument could be made that He is both my Mother and my Father, but to my knowledge, I was neither conceived nor birthed, and so I do not believe He is either.
Does that make sense to anyone but me?
I often watch the Elves and the Men with their young, and the young with their parents. It is a strange thing, to see them dote on the children and the children clinging to skirts and tunics. I was never so young or so innocent, and I sometimes find myself craving the safety of skirts to hide behind or a tunic to clutch in my hand. It is not an urge I understand, but it is one I have nonetheless.
So when I see the Lady Nerdanel round with her twins and five other children clutching at her... and her ever loving, ever forgiving, ever caring eyes focus on her offspring... something inside my spirit weeps.
Maybe the Valar are as they are because we never had such careful devotion given when our spirits were young. But that brings me back to the problem Mother and Father create: if we had neither, were we ever young?
I am not certain.
All I know is that somewhere in the recesses of my spirit, the Song I carry craves the loving, forgiving embrace of Mother.
Muse: Námo
Fandom: The Silmarillion
Word Count: 244
Even Father is merely a word to me, the name of what created me.
The argument could be made that He is both my Mother and my Father, but to my knowledge, I was neither conceived nor birthed, and so I do not believe He is either.
Does that make sense to anyone but me?
I often watch the Elves and the Men with their young, and the young with their parents. It is a strange thing, to see them dote on the children and the children clinging to skirts and tunics. I was never so young or so innocent, and I sometimes find myself craving the safety of skirts to hide behind or a tunic to clutch in my hand. It is not an urge I understand, but it is one I have nonetheless.
So when I see the Lady Nerdanel round with her twins and five other children clutching at her... and her ever loving, ever forgiving, ever caring eyes focus on her offspring... something inside my spirit weeps.
Maybe the Valar are as they are because we never had such careful devotion given when our spirits were young. But that brings me back to the problem Mother and Father create: if we had neither, were we ever young?
I am not certain.
All I know is that somewhere in the recesses of my spirit, the Song I carry craves the loving, forgiving embrace of Mother.
Muse: Námo
Fandom: The Silmarillion
Word Count: 244
