Not long before my mom died, and when she was no longer 100% cognitively aware, we were sitting outside when she looked up at a tree with its upper branches swaying in the breeze and said, "I love that." So these words from Hesse filled my heart:
"... when I hear trees rustling in the wind ... If one listens to them silently for a long ti…
Not long before my mom died, and when she was no longer 100% cognitively aware, we were sitting outside when she looked up at a tree with its upper branches swaying in the breeze and said, "I love that." So these words from Hesse filled my heart:
"... when I hear trees rustling in the wind ... If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother."
Not long before my mom died, and when she was no longer 100% cognitively aware, we were sitting outside when she looked up at a tree with its upper branches swaying in the breeze and said, "I love that." So these words from Hesse filled my heart:
"... when I hear trees rustling in the wind ... If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother."
Thank you, Susan.