10/23/2021
Mary was my mother’s mother
And my sister too.
There’s rain in the river.
There’s a river running through
To the sea around these islands,
Crying tears of sorrow and pain.
There’s rain in the river;
There’s a river in my veins.
Mary, young as we may be, you know the blood in you and me is as old as blood can be (is as old as blood can be.)
Living lines of memory drew the markings on my hands.
Ancient lines of living love are waking in this land.
Saying: I am in the city, in the forest and the field;
I am in the bounty, come on, know me as I yield.
I am in the falcon, in the otter and the stoat;
I am in the turtle dove with nowhere left to go.
And in the moment of blind madness, as he’s pushing her away,
I am in the lover and in the ear who hears her say:
'Can we begin again? Oh baby it’s me again. I know you are so different to me but I love you just the same. I love you just the same. Love you just the same. I love you just the same.'
Mary Ethel Ruddock, 1912 to 72,
Though we never met in flesh, now I remember you
Were warm and you were gentle; you were modest; you were kind.
A mother, wife and gran; you were a woman of your time.
Do we know your life in colour?
Do we celebrate your flame,
Remembering your offering
With a candle in your name?
Mary young as we may be, you know the blood in you and me is as old as blood can be (is as old as blood can be).
She says:
I am in the living;
I am in the dying too.
I am in the stillness,
Can you see me as I move?
I am in the Hawthorn, in the Apple and the Beech;
I am in the mayhem and the medicine of speech.
And in the moment of blind madness, as he’s pushing her away,
I am in the lover and in the ear who hears her say:
'Can we begin again? Oh baby it’s me again. I know you are so different to me but I love you just the same. I love you just the same. Love you just the same. I love you just the same.
