For we all have different roles that we play, and our special places and formation.
Remember not my name but my continental sound. The spelling is haphazard and a merely a place holder to inform the SOUND.
I am not mother Mercy. She is blunt. She will hammer you yo fit her mould which she decided for you. With or without you.
I am not mother Superior. I’m not better than you in anything. I’m a long for the ride just as you are. It’s fun to be supportive and part of a team.
I could be mother Courage, like the character by Bertolt Brecht. She had many children whom she provided care for, being a source of comfort and compassion to the soldiers of war. She travelled cross country in her caravan of carnage. She had a mute daughter whose name started with K, that daughter was slain for beating the drums to herald the oncoming troops as they encroached closer…
Maybe I am the modern mystic mother of insight, intelligence, a sharp tool of precision like a scalpel. The incisor tooth, like a cat, or the canines of dogmatic dog teeth.
I bark and I bite. I inject and inspect, I and inflect and introspect.
You can tear me apart but you’ll never catch me. You can involve the children but that’s all you, not me.
I want to thank abba and the holy cow for sending the music. The track to which I have danced and raved along to for all of the last 29 minutes.
To all that have the capacity to pay me and my mind any attention? You know me to be the modern mystic mother. *shrugs* big deal. My true name? I am Mother Chaos.