A tale of gentle healing
by Anne Maria Clarke
In his beautiful book of Celtic spiritual wisdom, Anam Cara, John O'Donohue explains: anam means 'soul' and cara is 'friend'. If we are to befriend the soul of one who is very hurt, we must be mindful of our approach. We must come upon the mystery of another gently, reverently and indirectly, with candlelight, not electric light, to illumine our way.
Once upon a time there was a daughter with three Mothers. One night, something terrible happened in the woods close to where they lived.
Well, the first mother, the youngest, collapsed into grief.
The second, a little older, flew into a rage.
But the third, the eldest, simply carried on as before. Yet in the evenings, when the sun hung low over the forest, she would light a candle in the window & ponder over the meaning of these things.
Now, the first & second mothers, though they did not intend it, drove their daughter away. For, you see, their sorrow & their rage caused them to loose themselves and, in such a state of loss, they could do nothing to help their daughter. Whereas the third remained calm and a little detached, as was fitting.
Well soon the lives of the first and second mothers fell apart, for their emotions were so overwhelming and so wearying that they quickly lost control of their affairs.They no longer knew the rhythm of day & night. For them all was night; all was dark. They could not eat, sleep, or indeed do anything required to create a bit of peace for their daughter, who was herself still attempting to recover from what had happened in the woods.
Now the trouble was that the poor girl never knew which of the mothers would be at home when she returned in the evenings. They kept on changing you see.
When the first mother was at home, the young girl couldn't get any rest, for her nights were disturbed by her mother's constant sobbing.
It was no better when the second mother was at home, for she, it seemed, knew nothing at all about being being a mother and would pace the floor from sunset till dawn, wringing her hands and muttering angrily to herself about everything that had gone on; which, as it happened, was the very thing her daughter couldn't bear.
Things were much better when the third mother was at home. There was food on the table, laughter in the air and each had restful nights at the end of the day.
Clearly the girl preferred the third mother and she showed her much appreciation. She couldn't talk about what had happened in the woods, so they talked sbout what they could, each knowing where the boundary had been set.
In these ways time passed.
During the day the daughter went about the business of her life. She did very well, but still it did not go easily for her when she returned to the house where the mothers were grieving & raging. And each evening as she made her way home, she longed to find the third mother waiting for her at the door.
Sometimes she was lucky.
More time passed. The girl's luck increased, For, you see, somehow it happened that the third mother was more and more at home and the others less & less.
Now one such evening much, much later, when the daughter sat together with the third mother, she decided to tell her about all the trouble she had had with the other two.
' Throughout the night,' she explained, 'one wept whilst the other raged. I could get no rest and was at my wits end. Whatever was the matter?'
Well, the first mother, the youngest, collapsed into grief.
The second, a little older, flew into a rage.
But the third, the eldest, simply carried on as before. Yet in the evenings, when the sun hung low over the forest, she would light a candle in the window & ponder over the meaning of these things.
Now, the first & second mothers, though they did not intend it, drove their daughter away. For, you see, their sorrow & their rage caused them to loose themselves and, in such a state of loss, they could do nothing to help their daughter. Whereas the third remained calm and a little detached, as was fitting.
Well soon the lives of the first and second mothers fell apart, for their emotions were so overwhelming and so wearying that they quickly lost control of their affairs.They no longer knew the rhythm of day & night. For them all was night; all was dark. They could not eat, sleep, or indeed do anything required to create a bit of peace for their daughter, who was herself still attempting to recover from what had happened in the woods.
Now the trouble was that the poor girl never knew which of the mothers would be at home when she returned in the evenings. They kept on changing you see.
When the first mother was at home, the young girl couldn't get any rest, for her nights were disturbed by her mother's constant sobbing.
It was no better when the second mother was at home, for she, it seemed, knew nothing at all about being being a mother and would pace the floor from sunset till dawn, wringing her hands and muttering angrily to herself about everything that had gone on; which, as it happened, was the very thing her daughter couldn't bear.
Things were much better when the third mother was at home. There was food on the table, laughter in the air and each had restful nights at the end of the day.
Clearly the girl preferred the third mother and she showed her much appreciation. She couldn't talk about what had happened in the woods, so they talked sbout what they could, each knowing where the boundary had been set.
In these ways time passed.
During the day the daughter went about the business of her life. She did very well, but still it did not go easily for her when she returned to the house where the mothers were grieving & raging. And each evening as she made her way home, she longed to find the third mother waiting for her at the door.
Sometimes she was lucky.
More time passed. The girl's luck increased, For, you see, somehow it happened that the third mother was more and more at home and the others less & less.
Now one such evening much, much later, when the daughter sat together with the third mother, she decided to tell her about all the trouble she had had with the other two.
' Throughout the night,' she explained, 'one wept whilst the other raged. I could get no rest and was at my wits end. Whatever was the matter?'
' Ah,' the elder mother sighed softly. ' I was wondering when you would ask.' She sat back in her chair for, you see, she was by now quite an old woman.
' To sense your wound,' she began at last,' drove them practically insane, for it ripped open a place in them that was also wounded, a bleak, desolate place where every scrap of hope was turned to dust.'
The daughter did not reply at first but then said quite knowingly. 'Yes, I thought as much'.
But later the young woman said, ' One thing still puzzles me, though. I never did understand how some nights when I came home, I found you here, and not my weeping or raging mothers?'
' Oh,' replied the third mother, 'that's quite simple. For you see, we three are really one & the same, but I am the part that got through.'
' To sense your wound,' she began at last,' drove them practically insane, for it ripped open a place in them that was also wounded, a bleak, desolate place where every scrap of hope was turned to dust.'
The daughter did not reply at first but then said quite knowingly. 'Yes, I thought as much'.
But later the young woman said, ' One thing still puzzles me, though. I never did understand how some nights when I came home, I found you here, and not my weeping or raging mothers?'
' Oh,' replied the third mother, 'that's quite simple. For you see, we three are really one & the same, but I am the part that got through.'
The Mother with Three Daughters
Once upon a time, there was a mother who had three daughters. One night something terrible happened in the woods close by.
Well the first daughter, the youngest, withdrew into a deep silence, the second, a little older, became angry & defensive. But the third, the eldest, simply carried on as before. Yet in the evenings, when the sun hung low over the forest, she would light a candle in the window and ponder over the meaning of these things.
Now the first & second daughters, though they did not intend it, drove the mother away; for you see, their silence & defensiveness caused them to loose themselves and, in such a state of loss, they could do nothing to help their mother. Whereas the third remained calm & a little detached, as was fitting.
Well soon the lives of the first & second daughters fell apart, for their emotions were so overwhelming & so wearying that they quickly lost control
of their affairs. They no longer knew the rhythm of the day. For them all was night; all was dark. They could not eat, sleep, or indeed do anything required to create a bit of peace for their mother, who was herself still attempting to recover from what had happened in the woods.
Now the trouble was that the poor mother never knew which of the daughters was coming home in the evenings. They kept on changing you see. When the first daughter was at home, the mother could get no rest, for her nights were disturbed by the terrible silence.
It was no better when the second daughter was home. For she, it seemed did not understand anything about being a daughter; & she would stay out later & later & was even more defensive when she returned; which, as it happened, was the very thing the mother couldn't bear.
Things were much better when the third daughter was at home - as you might expect. There was food on the table, laughter in the air & each had restful nights at the end of the day.
They couldn't talk about what had happened in the woods. So they talked about what they could, each knowing where the boundary had been set.
In these ways time passed.
During the day, the mother went about the business of her life. She did very well, but still things did not go easily for her when the silent & defensive daughters returned. And each night as she waited at the door she longed to see the third daughter coming home.
Sometimes she was lucky.
More time passed. The mother's luck increased, for, you see, somehow it happened that the third daughter was more & more at home & the others less & less.
Now one such evening much, much later, as the elder mother sat together with her third daughter, she decided to tell her about all the trouble she had had with the other two.
' One was so silent & the other so defensive,' she explained, 'I was at my wits' end. Whatever was the matter?'
'Ah,' the third daughter sighed softly, 'I was wndering when you would ask.'
She then sat forward in her chair, for you see she was by now quite grown.
'To sense your wound,' she began at last, 'drove them practically insane, for it ripped open a place within them that was also wounded, a bleak, desolate place where every shred of hope had turned to dust.
The mother did not reply at first but then said quite knowingly,
'Yes, I thought as much. But one thing still puzzles me. I never did understand how some nights when I was waiting at the door I saw & not my silent or defensive daughters coming home? How?
'Oh,' relpied the third daughter, 'that's quite simple. For you see we three are really one & the same, but I am the part that got through.'
Much love
Anne Maria Clarke
x x x
An extract from Anne Maria Clarke's book:
THE DARK MOON
available @
www.archivepublishing.com
(please leave a comment on the archive website)
Well the first daughter, the youngest, withdrew into a deep silence, the second, a little older, became angry & defensive. But the third, the eldest, simply carried on as before. Yet in the evenings, when the sun hung low over the forest, she would light a candle in the window and ponder over the meaning of these things.
Now the first & second daughters, though they did not intend it, drove the mother away; for you see, their silence & defensiveness caused them to loose themselves and, in such a state of loss, they could do nothing to help their mother. Whereas the third remained calm & a little detached, as was fitting.
Well soon the lives of the first & second daughters fell apart, for their emotions were so overwhelming & so wearying that they quickly lost control
of their affairs. They no longer knew the rhythm of the day. For them all was night; all was dark. They could not eat, sleep, or indeed do anything required to create a bit of peace for their mother, who was herself still attempting to recover from what had happened in the woods.
Now the trouble was that the poor mother never knew which of the daughters was coming home in the evenings. They kept on changing you see. When the first daughter was at home, the mother could get no rest, for her nights were disturbed by the terrible silence.
It was no better when the second daughter was home. For she, it seemed did not understand anything about being a daughter; & she would stay out later & later & was even more defensive when she returned; which, as it happened, was the very thing the mother couldn't bear.
Things were much better when the third daughter was at home - as you might expect. There was food on the table, laughter in the air & each had restful nights at the end of the day.
They couldn't talk about what had happened in the woods. So they talked about what they could, each knowing where the boundary had been set.
In these ways time passed.
During the day, the mother went about the business of her life. She did very well, but still things did not go easily for her when the silent & defensive daughters returned. And each night as she waited at the door she longed to see the third daughter coming home.
Sometimes she was lucky.
More time passed. The mother's luck increased, for, you see, somehow it happened that the third daughter was more & more at home & the others less & less.
Now one such evening much, much later, as the elder mother sat together with her third daughter, she decided to tell her about all the trouble she had had with the other two.
' One was so silent & the other so defensive,' she explained, 'I was at my wits' end. Whatever was the matter?'
'Ah,' the third daughter sighed softly, 'I was wndering when you would ask.'
She then sat forward in her chair, for you see she was by now quite grown.
'To sense your wound,' she began at last, 'drove them practically insane, for it ripped open a place within them that was also wounded, a bleak, desolate place where every shred of hope had turned to dust.
The mother did not reply at first but then said quite knowingly,
'Yes, I thought as much. But one thing still puzzles me. I never did understand how some nights when I was waiting at the door I saw & not my silent or defensive daughters coming home? How?
'Oh,' relpied the third daughter, 'that's quite simple. For you see we three are really one & the same, but I am the part that got through.'
Much love
Anne Maria Clarke
x x x
An extract from Anne Maria Clarke's book:
THE DARK MOON
available @
www.archivepublishing.com
(please leave a comment on the archive website)
Subscribe to Anne Maria Clarke's YouTube channel
http://www.youtube.com/c/annemariaclarke
More fairy-stories, myths & legends by
Anne Maria Clarke
http://www.archivepublishing.com
http://www.annemariaclarke.net
www.annemariaclarke.net/blog
http://www.youtube.com/c/annemariaclarke
More fairy-stories, myths & legends by
Anne Maria Clarke
http://www.archivepublishing.com
http://www.annemariaclarke.net
www.annemariaclarke.net/blog
