The Sacred Presence

Dear Mom,

You are the enduring beholder.

The sacred creator.

The unconditional lover.

The Constant Presence.

I have seen you.

I have witnessed you.

The other day—

in your eyes,

as your mind stopped searching for the right word,

your soul opened.

Your gaze lit up.

And in your tears,

a crack in the veil,

I heard something eternal whisper:

I see you.

We belong to each other.

Not just my mother.

My soul mate.

You nourished me.

You gave me blood,

breath,

warmth.

And because of that,

I learned to sit still.

To become a philosopher.

To feel full doing nothing—

just contemplating.

Because every need was already met.

You are holy.

You are whole.

You are eternal.

I owe you my life.

And still—

more than that.

You will always be

my cherished mother.

We are always together.

And we always will be.

Even now,

behind the fog

of a sometimes confused mind,

you are still there—

Compassionate.

Forgiving.

Radiating that fierce,

unshakable love.

Nothing can destroy

that quiet, gentle power.

Thank you.

For showing me the truth of love.

For giving me what I now

know how to give.

To my beloveds.

To Nathalie.

To Ana.

To Nicolas.

They are my treasure.

And they receive from me

what you gave first.

They feel the touch,

the presence,

the awareness

that began with you.

Because of you,

I don’t just love—I create it.

In my work,

in my family,

in how I hold others.

Your love became the blueprint

for how I build unity

in a world that’s forgotten

how to belong.

You are

my most brilliant inspiration.

Always.

If this touched something in you—
something tender, aching, unfinished—
you might want to write your own letter.

How to write a letter to your mother:

Start with presence.

Before you write, sit.
Feel into her energy.
Remember her touch, her voice, her essence, her smile, and her gaze.
Whether she’s alive, gone, or unknown— she lives somewhere in you.

Stay with this for a minute.

From there, let it flow through you.

And maybe—just maybe—you'd like to include:

• what you did not dare to say
• what you are grateful for
• what you are still grieving or mourning
• what was given—even if the gift came through pain
• and her legacy—even if she’s not here, even if she never was the mother you expected.

And when you’re ready—
go one step deeper.
Write not just to the mother.
But from the mother.

Because the mother isn’t just someone we long for.

She’s a presence we can become.

Mothering is how we return to wholeness.

Not just in our homes, but in our world.

To love like a mother is to see the human in every being,

to hold space where fear once ruled,

to choose connection over control.

It’s how we weave unity.

How to embody the mother within you (as man or woman):

Hold space without fixing.

The mother doesn’t rush to solve.
She sees.
She stays.
Be the one who can sit in silence without shrinking.

Protect without control.

True maternal energy doesn’t cage.
It shields with softness.
It offers safety, not surveillance.

Nourish from abundance.

Give from the well that’s been filled.
And when it’s empty—rest.
Mothering yourself comes first.

Trust your inner knowing.

The mother archetype speaks in gut wisdom, not analytics.
Listen to the feeling behind the thought.
Let intuition lead, even when logic hesitates.

Forgive like it’s your nature.

Because it is.
Not to excuse, but to release.
Mothering energy doesn’t carry grudges—
it carries light through the dark.

This is how we honor our mothers:
with compassionate presence.

By becoming the space
we once longed to be held in.

And when we live from that place—
soft and strong,
tender and true—
we become
the love
that raised us
or the love
we had to raise ourselves.

Either way—
the world is different
because we chose
to mother it
through the way we live.