As I am sitting here writing this article on Father's Day, I am looking into myself - am I going to write about male and female (the relative polarities) or about genders - man and woman. My heart calls to write about man and woman, the gender of which we decided to take, in today's world, for this lifetime. I have started to feel in myself more and more the difference, and with that difference, also feel the urge to take more responsibility as a man. One part of taking the responsibility to...

I sit on a stone and scrape gravel with a small shovel. Buckets fill up quickly, and they are heavy. The frequent drizzle adds to the burden. The men carry them, groaning. They give us smaller containers—time and space shift. I feel as if I am in another place, wordless, deep in thought, full of questions. It is fascinating to look at time – the ages that appear in the soil layer by layer. Something crumbles, something glimmers, and something smells different, harsh, and cold.

The last years with my mother, when I consciously allowed her into my life and allowed myself to feel like a daughter, our relationship changed. It became one of mutual respect; we were equals. Two grown women, and both of us were mothers. She had time, because she could no longer hurry anywhere or go off to do her own things—she was bedridden. It was just her and me. Mother and daughter. She spoke and I listened. I asked and she shared.