Theos-Talk Archives (March 2003 Message tt00228)

IMHO Theosophy would like to have theosophists strengthen this feeling in the 
world.
The Mother of our race.
The Mother of our particular country.
The mother of our families.
The mothers of our "enemies". Who are they?
Is Truth the Real Mother?
Who is the Father?
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A Rose for Your Pocket

By Thich Nhat Hanh

Translated from the French by Elin Sand
The thought "mother" cannot be separated from that of "love". Love is sweet, 
tender, and delicious. Without love, a child cannot flower, an adult cannot 
mature. Without love, we weaken, wither. 

The day my mother died, I made this entry in my journal: "The greatest 
misfortune of my life has come!" Even an old person, when he loses his 
mother, doesn't feel ready. He too has the impression that he is not yet 
ripe, that he is suddenly alone. He feels as abandoned and unhappy as a young 
orphan. 

All songs and poems praising motherhood are beautiful, effortlessly 
beautiful. Even songwriters and poets without much talent seem to pour their 
hearts into these works, and when they are recited or sung, the performers 
also seem deeply moved, unless they have lost their mothers too early even to 
know what love for mother is. Writings extolling the virtues of motherhood 
have existed since the beginning of time throughout the world. 

When I was a child I heard a simple poem about losing your mother, and it is 
still very important for me. If your mother is still alive, you may feel 
tenderness for her each time you read this, fearing this distant yet 
inevitable event. 

That year, although I was still very young
My mother left me,
And I realized
That I was an orphan.
Everyone around me was crying.
I suffered in silence . . . 

Allowing the tears to flow,
I felt my pain soften.
Evening enveloped Mother's tomb,
The pagoda bell rang sweetly.


I realized that to lose your mother
Is to lose the whole universe.

We swim in a world of tender love for many years, and, without even knowing 
it, we are quite happy there. Only after it is too late do we become aware of 
it. 

People in the countryside do not understand the complicated language of city 
people. When people from the city say that mother is "a treasure of love," 
that is already too complex for them. Country people in Vietnam compare their 
mothers to the finest varieties of bananas or to honey, sweet rice, or sugar 
cane. They express their love in these simple and direct ways. For me, a 
mother is like a ba huong banana of the highest quality, like the best nep 
mot sweet rice, the most delicious mia lau sugar cane! 


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There are moments after a fever when you have a bitter, flat taste in your 
mouth, and nothing tastes good. Only when your mother comes and tucks you in, 
gently pulls the covers over your chin, puts her hand on your burning 
forehead (Is it really a hand, or is it the silk of heaven?), and gently 
whispers, "My poor darling!" do you feel restored, surrounded with the 
sweetness of maternal love. Her love is so fragrant, like a banana, like 
sweet rice, like sugar cane.