CLXXVII. Hear Ye, Hear Ye -

Photo: Tiziano Vecellio, Titian - Maddona and Child with St. Catherine Venice, 1576 - taken at the Louvre, Paris, France on the eve of my mother’s birthday, April 16, 2016.

In spite of any attention that my last post received, I want to clarify and make transparent - as any journalist does - that my mother is my best friend.
She is my ride or die.
She is my comrade and confidante.
She is the woman I aspire to be: solid limbs, limber gait, feminine, groomed - beauty defined.
I admire her and I don’t.
I want to improve her.
I don’t want to be her.
I want to embody her ideals more than my corporeal form already does, being born from her.
Without her, I cease to be. She made me promise that this wouldn’t be the case. I don’t want to break that promise and that is why I want so badly to regain my health, so that I can commit to carrying her legacy of a strong woman.
You, my mother, are everything to me.

As the religion I was born to asserts: without woman, man is not born and kings do not exist.

Without my mother, this Kaur, this so-called princess, does not exist either.