son of the king of heaven, lived in the folds of history, laughing and wailing, as spirit-cajoling shamans, wise queens, poetry-writing entertainers, tear-hiding wives, bosom-bracing mothers, dutiful daughters, scheming concubines, ill-treated daughters-in-law and fire-breathing mothers-in-law. Their lives sweeping through, season after season, flowers after snow, rain after drought.
Finally, there I was standing in front of mother. I had become her sorcerer. I had seen mother's history. Her very own history, a legacy of a river full of the hopes and dreams and despair of women before her. I tell her it is her turn now to continue the journey on her own. I will stand by her until there is no more time to write it and I will be the next carrier of her hopes and dreams when I become a woman one day.
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