1.
Long before I knew I’d be a mother,
I dreamed of beauty and of a girl (myself, I thought),
running free and even wild, adored by parents
for the brilliance of her being, given tools
that matched her passions: canvasses and paints,
footballs, bicycles and dress up clothes, knitting needles,
clocks to take apart and reconstruct, terrariums,
extra large bandaids for torn up knees and elbows,
cooking spoons and pots, swiss army knives,
clay and stone for sculpting.
2.
Above my desk there hangs a picture of my daughters.
And though I am their mother and could
rightly be accused of bias, few would contradict me:
they are radiant and dazzlingly beautiful.
Women who are whole, inhabiting worlds
that I will neither understand nor ever live in.
Yet as I let myself completely open to their presence,
I allow the possibility that when
we wish things from our deepest longings,
these waking heart-dreams actually do come true.
Above my desk there hangs a picture of my daughters.
And though I am their mother and could
rightly be accused of bias, few would contradict me:
they are radiant and dazzlingly beautiful.
Women who are whole, inhabiting worlds
that I will neither understand nor ever live in.
Yet as I let myself completely open to their presence,
I allow the possibility that when
we wish things from our deepest longings,
these waking heart-dreams actually do come true.
Whether through Shamanic practice, through ministry, or through art, Riva finds peace and practice in spreading love, compassion, and empathy for the self and others. 