I Grieve For Eve, The Mother Of Us All.



I grieve for Eve, the mother of us all — dishonored, accused and charged.

Our origin stories’ feeble and hungry temptress, blamed for man’s weak will and desire for sweet ripe fruit.

I grieve for Eve as she believed the fault to be her own.

A wound carved deep which led her to question her own sovereignty and innate authority.

An ancient shame, born of blame — taken to be true.

I grieve for Eve as she passed this wound to her daughters and them to theirs and theirs to my own. The mommy-knot tied tight within my chest. This primal pain pierced my right ventricle with dirty needle and thread, stitched its stitches within the powerfully beating meat of my own myocardium. My heart oozed and bled.

I staggered, fell, coughed and retched.

I wailed and I moaned — for Eve’s heart was now my own.

I grieve for Eve and the fierce musings of life which sewed her antiquated ache into my chest. This pain and confusion passed down from mother to daughter for eons and lifetimes; believed by most, questioned by few.

I grieve her anguish, ever-present yet never shown, never allowed to be known.

I grieve for Eve and this ancient sorrow I have turned away from and denied. Someone hurt her and someone hurt me, but together we unstitch the knot which binds the world we see.

I grieve the choices we believed we had to make. I grieve choosing survival above our authentic shining light. I grieve choosing crumbs of attention over our own true experience. I grieve denying our genuine self and playing small. But above all, I grieve leaving the garden to beg and follow.

I grieve turning against my sisters with judgment, criticism and cruelty. I am sorry, sweet sisters — I did not see the beauty of the truth in you, which shines and emanates, same as the truth in me.

My sisters, stand with me, and they will see just how powerfully compassionate we can be.

I grieve to heal. I grieve to make whole. I grieve to reconcile and restore. I welcome the grief to stay, right here, within my chest. I will nurse our tender grief, hold it close and never let it go. I will use my voice, my hands and my heart.

I will use the divine wisdom found in each cell of my body — in quiet allowing will my divine power be remembered.

I grieve for Eve, but our time of grief is soon to come to an end.

As each mother, sister and daughter turns within, takes hold of grief and calls it her own; as each mother, sister and daughter allows the mommy-knot to be unraveled. As each mother, sister, and daughter refuses to beg and follow; as each mother, sister and daughter chooses to stand, instead, rooted in her own sacred authority.

As each mother, sister, and daughter lets go of shame, we are healed, and we are never healed alone.

I will honor Eve as she conceived the humanity we all now share.

I will honor Eve and hold her grief within in my sacred heart…

…and I will grieve for Eve until Eve’s grief is at long last relieved.




Abby Pingree
Abby Pingree spent the first seven years of her life in a hippie commune. She is currently an author, hospice nurse, mother, and student of life. She has made friends with her own experiences with drug addiction, bulimia, dishonest and dodgy behavior by simply telling the truth. She explores these experiences in a book titled: Completion, by C. Abigail Pingree. She now seeks an authentic life. She writes for Elephant Journal and blogs for Huffington Post. She can be found on Facebook and Twitter.
Abby Pingree
Abby Pingree

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