Finding my Mother
I was one of those rare children who didn’t grow up with a mother’s love. Only her resentment, anger or ambivalence. It was as if her role as a parent ended once they cut the umbilical cord. I will always be grateful for carrying me up to that point, if nothing else, even if the reason was she just felt ‘uncomfortable’ getting an abortion. These were her words.
However, I don’t need to pity. I had a wonderful dad and other family members - I never really had much of a surrogate mother figure though as my aunts lived far away and only one living grandmother, who was a lovely woman, but already old and frail by the time I was born. But my dad’s love felt more than enough. I didn’t really miss what I didn’t have for many years.
It was only really in my teens that I started to notice something odd. My friends would rant about their fathers and tell me how lucky I was for being close with my dad. But they didn’t seem to appreciate how lucky they were for the strong relationships they had with their mums, when mine had long since disappeared by then.
I did start to notice. And, naturally, I did feel sad. It was never that my dad couldn’t love me as much as a good mother supposedly would have. It was that it was a differe t experience I still missed and, as a young girl growing through puberty, there are things you feel more comfortable discussing with an older woman than a man.
Growing up Christian, to my atheist family’s amusement, I of course had no problem feeling close to the Heavenly Father. Except I grew to learn that the fun-loving, music playing, protective but encouraging, free-thinker loving father god was not the one most Christians saw. I would later find the Father I saw in my dreams in images of Pan or Krishna or the Dagda - or his sweetness and love laid out as The Living Father in Gospel of the Saviour.
So me and the Father, just like me and my Pops, have always been like *that* (holds up crossed fingers).
But with the Mother it was different. It was relationship of learning, of gaining trust, of faith and accepting Her love. And I’m strangely grateful that it was so because seeing God as Mother as well as Father has been one of the most amazing spiritual journeys in my short life (27 is young, right?!).
I first met the Mother as Pavarti when I was still in Primary school. It was a brief interfaith lesson and the school would move on - but the image of Pavarti, that beautiful figure radiating with love, would always stick with me. It would cause me to ask why was God only referred to as Father and not Mother, when the Vicar would say God wasn’t male?
Soon we would be taught the Greek myths, I would meet Hera, Athena, Persephone and Hecate etc. Again, a fleeting lesson, but I would read up where I can. To cut to the chase, I would eventually convert to Wicca where I mostly just worshipped the divine feminine as The Goddess without a particular name. I couldn’t find my 'matron’ as it were, same for the male God. And part of me wasn’t comfortable trying to be a polytheist. The idea of the One with many attributes seemed to call me more.
When I turned to Christopaganism, through the Gnostic path, I first saw Sophia and the Magdalene as two parts of the same energy. Both my co-Saviors with Christ as Yeshua. She was the Daughter. My sister. My friend. Sometimes even my crush. Because these were the relationships with other women I understood and could relate to. I believed God was beyond gender but preffered to simply refer to Them as Father because my heart was comfortable with it. Calling out to God as 'Abba’ would bring the same feeling as when I would call out 'Daddy’ as a child.
I started to look at why I wasn’t relating to Her as Mother. Was it because I was afraid that calling out 'Immah’ would bring the same result on if I called out 'Mum’ as a child? Either nothing or…worse.
One time I tried. I look back on this memory and can’t remember if it was a dream or a vision during a ritual. I called out 'Immah’ instead of 'Abba’ - knowing the Father would still be present, accepting, but taking a step back.
I remember nothing happening for a while. Silence. Then I had a vision of the Magdalene stepping forward, dressed in flowing red robes and her dark hair let down. She gently took my hand and told me there was no need to be afraid. I didn’t get up but it was if I still followed, like some OBE, my room disappearing and finding myself standing at the centre of the universe, surrounded by countless stars. I could hear my Lady saying; “Here She is.” But there was only stars…and the Holy Daughter.
But, like a magic eye photo, I could see something hidden in the stars. A smile. And suddenly I wanted to cry but the Magdalene was holding me upright. I kept chanting Her name as I knew it. Immah. Immah. Mother.
The more I called out, the more I saw Her, until the Daughter had let me go and I was surrounded by this great cosmic being that was before me and all around me. I had never felt so small, and yet my spirit burning bright, in all my life. And when I finally woke up there was at least a second of pure bliss.
That wasn’t the end of it though. Only the beginning. I read up more on Barbelo, the great mother mentioned in the Gnostic texts. Her connection to Sophia/Holy Spirit was clear and it was then I thought of Sophia as Mother as well as Sister. Still, I call Her Immah when I wish to connect again.
Each connection through meditation let me know Her love. And also it brought with it an understanding of my own mother. It helped me show compassion towards her when we eventually reunited and developed a…strange friendship if anything. To know the Mother fully meant accepting part of Her lived in my own mother too. And how, while not all forgiveable, she had her own demons to fight and still does.
We may never be mother and daughter like 'normal’, I may never feel her love as strong as my dad’s, but that’s okay. Because I have the love of the Heavenly Mother with me always. And I know She and Abba will never let me down.
