Father’s coins clinking, Mother’s heart sinking, Child-soul shrinking— Trust falls away.
Through darkness creeping, Through silence weeping, Through memory keeping— Pain marks the way.
From depths ascending, Through self-befriending, In truth transcending— I own my mind.
Not blood defining, Not past confining, But soul refining— I choose my path.
Through wisdom growing, Through spirit flowing, Through light bestowing— I heal myself.
~ Mother Mari of Magadha
The sound of coins still makes my hands tremble sometimes - an echo of Mari’s trauma that resonates across centuries. This morning, while counting the day’s earnings, I found myself thinking about how some sounds carry memories like fish carry the scent of their depths. Mari captured this in the opening lines - that terrible music of metal against metal that marked her childhood’s end.
The imagery is deliberately harsh: coins clinking, heart sinking, soul shrinking. Each word falls like a stone into still water, creating ripples of consequence. I’ve watched this same pattern play out in the lives of children who come to my stall - how trauma changes not just their circumstances but their very way of being in the world. Like fish suddenly finding themselves in too-shallow water, their souls contract to survive.
Yet notice how Mari weaves hope through even this darkest of memories. “Through darkness creeping, Through silence weeping” - yes, but also “Through memory keeping.” This is what the Lord taught her - that even our deepest wounds can become vessels for wisdom if we have the courage to examine them fully. Every morning when I clean fish, my hands remember this truth: that dealing with death and blood can be a sacred act if done with full presence.
A sparrow just landed on my window sill, tilting its head at the morning’s catch. Such a small thing, yet it moves without fear among the evidence of death and commerce. Mari would have seen this as another teaching - how freedom comes not from avoiding darkness but from finding our strength within it.
“I own my mind” - perhaps the most revolutionary line in all of Mari’s work. Like my market teacher used to say: they can own your labor, even your body, but your mind remains free if you claim that freedom. A dragonfly has joined the sparrow now, its wings catching light like living stained glass. These creatures know something about freedom that humans often forget.
The final transformation in this poem - from victim to self-healer - reminds me of what I see in the market each dawn. How light doesn’t just appear all at once but seeps gradually into darkness, how healing often comes not through dramatic changes but through small, persistent acts of reclaiming our own truth.
~ end of preview chapters