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  • Writer's pictureAmanda Jade Fiorino

Mothering Through Stretches of Transformation

These past few weeks have been twisting and stretching me, dropping me into wider fields of knowing and becoming.

Being a mother while feeling my own cellular reconfiguration can be unbearable, sometimes. Especially in a culture where many parents carry the sole responsibility of tending lives that inherently need a whole enmeshed community. A community that parents need, as well. It requires a kind of muscle, much like the fundus that has the capacity to expand exponentially during pregnancy, and then contract to an indescribable size by its gestational comparison. A muscle that astonishes me - both the meta-physical & -phorical and the physiological.

This past week was partially devoted to tracking and hunting a bull elk. The last day I hunted, I sat, with my eyes closed, envisioning a handsome bull, neck outstretched, emerging from the Aspen. It didn’t happen.

Later that same evening Areion (entering a new stretch of developmental terrain) relentlessly antagonized all our fur kin. Past the point of patience, and weighted by exhaustion, I got him in the car and we went on a drive. I’ll be honest, I was angry... I think you could have steamed vegetables on my head. Areion has my will, which inevitably means I’m so (beautifully) fucked. For those of you who know me, you know what I’m talkin’ about. As we drove down the road thats surrounded by a mix of private land and Southern Ute territory, the sun’s lingering glow rested like velvet over the curving mountains. And then, there, in the grass to my left was a bull elk, grazing. Large antlers protruding from his skull. He darted across the dirt road, off toward the west in a lope.

He stopped for a moment, long enough for us to lock eyes and gaze at each other. Mesmerized by his bewildering beauty that was saturated by the orange glow of the setting day star, I began to wonder about my own mysterious invocation earlier in the day. What or who might have been listening in on those images conjured through the body of me? Had a spiraling imbrication of imaginal speech tethered our bodies within a sub-current of holographic time?

I really couldn’t say. In fact I wouldn’t want to. The mystery and the majesty of meeting at dusk, aroused by his supple and gallant muscles, softened my tense body. I began to melt into the divine timing of creatures meeting each other in thresholds of change, much like the way dusk and dawn are liminally bound to one another.

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