Little cauldron Three Legs, metal of earth shaped by human hands, symbol of maiden, mother, and crone filled with smoky, deep incense:  I come to you imperfect, willing but unwise and always seeking. My hands are tied to yours, fingers burning. I ask you into my heart and my home, though my corners are dusty. No secret is unknown to you.

I pray for all the Little Mothers. My heart aches for one today, and I seek your counsel. Some Little Mothers suffer more than the others, it seems their constant charity, compassion, and kindness when they themselves have so little is repaid with more suffering. Perhaps I have much to learn from them, and should not question the choices they make, offering everything they have to everyone in need, saving nothing for themselves, still finding strength to go on.

Perhaps you are already with the Little Mothers, though they do not recognize you. Perhaps it is you that breathes courage and happiness into their ears while they sleep. It is you I see in their shy smiles. Perhaps it is we who need to examine our “suffering,” ask our hearts to empty so they may fill, open arms to all, not just the deserving.

Help me to remember these things always, long after the incense fades.