:: MA ::


Before I went to LA, I was experiencing some big ol’ grief about not having a mumma. It’s been 5 years without both my ‘rents, but this year, I FELT it.

It was all-consuming.

Then, on the night of my first event, a beautiful young woman, ran at me sideways and hugged me hard, cried, and told me that both me + the words in my books had been like a mumma to her because she hadn’t had a mumma figure in her life. I cried. Obvz. (Not going to lie, had a moment where I was like, ‘mama? You sure you don’t mean big sister?!!!’)

That Sunday was Mother’s Day in America. That shit is a THING there.

We went out for breakfast - bagel + cream cheese with side portion of fruit salad if you’re interested - and it was ALLLL about it. 

Women all around me were receiving a rose and a mimosa, yet me? 


I cried. 

Right there into my cream cheese bagel. I stuck up a metaphorical middle finger + made a womb + ovaries out of rose petals to honour our creative force as mummas of life, ideas, projects + expression in the workshop later that day.

After the workshop, without prompt, two of the women called me ‘mama’. Another messaged me  to say ‘I personified Ma’.

Yesterday arriving back in Avalon, in the same way I used to ring my mumma after a big adventure to tell her all about it, I went to Her to tell Her all about it. I placed my hand on Her altar in the abbey and told her  EVERYTHING. ‘So guess what? I’m back, and I did this + I met this person + this happened’ + when I was done, I lay boob to boob, belly to belly + womb to womb at the point where the Mary + Michael leylines meet + I let her hold me.

Like a mumma.

It’s no surprise that as I navigate Ma territory + what it means to me to be without a mumma, to not be a mumma, the expectation to be a mumma, whether I want to be a mumma, whether I can be a mumma, how others perceive me as a mumma that I’m called to Ma landscapes - MAlta, MAlibu + next month, MAllorca (come join me for a Summer Solstice Immersion @ramayogamallorca - it’s going to be MAgical) - this is my life. My womb is my GPS and I’m practicing an ever-unfolding trust in myself as I navigate the terrain of being THIS woman.

Lisa Lister