Once Upon A Feathered Dream


If a beautiful dream could be contained in a dream catcher it would be this one for me, the ideal of motherhood most recently expressed in the drama that unfolded on my front porch with the mother wren. Sadly, the mother wren lost her three babies as previously written about in The House that Wren Built blog entries of the past few weeks. The baby birds died mysteriously and I buried them under the statue of the open hands at the feet of the statue of St. Francis under the red Japanese maple.

I know they are just birds and I don’t want to over dramatize the events that occurred so close to home.  Beyond the observations I made watching the mother wren build her nest in the Nautilus Shell and being fascinated with nature and the efforts she made instinctually, I haven’t delved too far into the metaphor to draw conclusions that parallel my life.  I prefer to expand the metaphor to a more universal interpretation of the ideal of motherhood.

The beauty of motherhood is the concept of  unconditional love.  When a woman is blessed with a baby she embarks on a life changing journey of the heart. It is an indescribable joy that is multiplied exponentially as a baby grows and changes to adulthood. Even after the babies are grown and fly the nest to live their own lives, a mother’s love continues eternally and the mother treasures her babies in her heart no matter their age.  She also loves them through many challenges and trials. It is not always easy, mothers aren’t perfect and fatigue will sometimes cast a shadow but beyond those faltering times and momentary lapses, a mother holds tightly to the love for her baby.

When a mother loses a child the unspeakable sorrow and grief that ensues will be a challenge that changes her life from that day onward. Literally, her heart may be broken in half and this will take a long time to heal.  That is what I hoped to capture in this mandala, the eternal love embodied in the mother wren for her three babies and that unconditional love persists in life or death once upon a feathered dream.  May a mother’s song continue to be sung as I continue to hear the mother wren when she visits the red maple. I am not sure it is the same wren but I recognize the great song sung from such a tiny bird.

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