Dear Eve,
Oh mother of all we carry, my heart goes out to you. You are the first to ever do it my dear. And by it, I mean you are the mother of the world! You birthed all the things we women carry. Carrying the weight of the world is not so bad knowing you have been there. Though all we carry has evolved as the centuries come and go, the strength still lives on. I can visualize the similarities of our pouring out unto the father. As the days go by, the daily repetitions of life and all that we endure overcome us like a great typhoon but yet we stand, in the mist of if all, as unmoveable as an oak tree. I can quite frankly hear the crying out as it seems oh so familiar. I am here... standing in my storm, praying that you have passed down to me, from kindred to kindred, all of the tools needed to endure this calling. I shall break through.
Sincerly,
A disheveled woman
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