Moon Sisters & River Mothers

Notes from the Hollow Bone, entry Six

Today, if your heart broke a little—
or a lot—
you’re not alone.
Mine did too.

And if you laughed anyway,
even for a breath—
that matters.
So did I.

Please don’t let the world
or a holiday’s name
dictate your emotions,
define your pain.

If someone called,
if someone came,
hold that close—
a soft, quiet flame.

And if no one did—
if the silence grew—
know the ache in me
embraces you.

It doesn’t take a card or flowers,
it doesn’t wait for marked-off hours.
If you can love—
then do it.

Let go of fear,
of ego, of pride,
of what you thought you had to hide.

Release what binds you,
let the sorrow cease—
my loves, today—
be at peace.

I had no plan,
just followed the wind.
The river, the bend,
the strangers, the kin.

To the mother who whispered, “I feel we are soulmates”—
And I whispered back,
“I love you.”
Because what else do you say
when your soul remembers?

To those who waved
from passing lanes,
to the stones unnamed
that still remain—
you are not forgotten.

I walked your earth,
I heard your call.
I sat in the quiet
and thanked you all.

So I walked—
not seeking,
but listening.

Not waiting,
but willing.

Letting the path shape me
as much as I shaped it,
beneath a sky
that asked nothing—
but said everything.

Reflections from the Hollow Bone

This is my story—my love, my sadness, my pain. It is also my heart, my soul, and the quiet echo of something larger that lets me share it without losing it. When I write, I don’t just hold the personal—I offer it into something more universal.

Maybe that’s the beauty of energy. It isn’t lost, only transferred. Maybe it’s science with a poetic twist.

To every woman, every mother, every daughter, sister, soul-companion—what we carry is uniquely ours, and yet somehow shared. In the telling, it deepens. In the sharing, it expands.

It doesn't take the ache away. It doesn't erase the joy. But it keeps the flame alive.

And maybe that flame is eternal.

With Grace & Ink,

Mai