Grandmother: Keeper of Wisdom
You are standing in her kitchen. Smoke rises from the fire. Thin shafts of sunshine stream through unevenly spaced dried saplings that make up the walls of the round building. She squats by the fire, her crisp white dress boasting brightly colored flowers around the neckline. Her greying hair is tied back in a tight bun. Her hands deftly work, patting out small tortillas from the masa and placing them on the flat frying pan that sits atop the fire.
“Yes, child.” She looks up at you, knowing, feeling, seeing deeper than you might imagine. It isn’t a question. It is an answer to a question you have not verbalized. Will all be well? Am I going to be ok? Am I on the right path? “Now, go get the sikil pa’ak,” she instructs. It’s a pumpkin seed hummus that Grandmother serves with chopped egg, all wrapped in fresh tortillas. You tend to her wishes and retrieve the delicious, nutty sauce while she lays another tortilla on the hot stack growing on the table.
She is always there. Most always in or near the kitchen. And she always knows what is troubling you without your telling her. You find her presence comforting—the smoky scent that permeates her flowered dress, the gentle lines on her almost ageless face, her constant, measured motion as she works tirelessly. All these things make you feel secure.
There is no need to look for her, child. Grandmother is always with you. There is no need to ask her, child. She always knows what you need. Simply trust and take comfort for she will illuminate your path. You will hear her quiet voice whenever you feel the need to ask, “Will all be well?”