Ever since Roger Waters released the song ‘Wait for her’ in 2017 (https://genius.com/Roger-waters-wait-for-her-lyrics), I’ve been debating the meaning of every line, read almost every interpretation I could find on the wires and watched almost every video I could get my eyes on to truly understand what he meant, in the hope that waiting, for her, perhaps, just perhaps, stoically, nobly, existed as he explains in the lyrics.
It was only today, after two years of listening to this song almost daily, that it dawned on me that waiting for her, in my reality, was not about some stoic nobility waiting patiently to protect me, or care for my soul. No. Indeed not. I realised after all, it is about me, waiting for me, patiently, as a pack horse, to protect and care for my own soul.
Let me explain.
I spent the morning with ten random other, beautiful souls, in this dimension’s physical female form, connected through a common friend, and, reflecting now, a common thread. A morning I would have preferred to remain invisible from the world, in the safe escape of my home and my blissful world of painful, chosen silence, as I have so much crying to catch up on and processing to get through. But, out of respect and love for my friend, I left my artificial safe room of self, and ventured out. And this is how I learnt what waiting for her really means, for me.
I learnt that stay-fast, red lips and beautiful brown, soft eyes, speak in unison of the conviction of choice to live a destiny, fighting generational stereotypes with a gentle, yet robustness of spirit, waiting respectfully for the generational gap to catch up.
I learnt that what my grade five teacher taught, of tequila being closer to a lily than a cactus, being absolutely true, as a beautiful woman told a beautiful tale of tequila in a way that I could appreciate the honesty of a lily without being stung by the waiting for pretence.
I learnt how the true, selfless care of a woman turned a destiny of a family, made something from the ashes and rebuilt a castle of hope in sincerity and belief in the honesty of (man)kind, waiting, regardless of facts or figures, for the tides to turn.
I learnt that it took almost six years of waiting to be free from the pain of deceit of enabling someone else’s’ life and dreams for decades, selflessly, despite her own, but not giving up to work at regaining the freedom of choice, the freedom of self. And how beautiful that freedom looks.
I learnt that the beauty of love for parents, whilst waiting patiently for the dust to settle (whether the dust was her own or not) brought an inner strength that make others sit up and notice, as she knew everyone’s vision will be clearer after.
I learnt that, although Greek gods made their entry into our oral tradition as far back as the 18th century, they still make their presence known today, as I felt it through a woman who’s power is tangible through her choice of words and pauses, knowing how to patiently wait for the right moment to command destinies.
I learnt how addictions can be positive when you are wise enough to know when to walk away as she had to wait for when the call had to be made. Her soul knew that any moment earlier would not have brought the power and impact into many dimensions forward and backward, knowing that she would change future fates of many as the relativity theory of bending space and time is our reality.
I learnt that the red thread of wisdom is indeed as real as glass inlaid with gemstones as her wisdom filled the air. That her patience of raising children to raise children who would be gems to a world who are desperate for pearls of wisdom was a selfless act of kindness to a world also desperate for that.
I learnt that the gift of patiently, lovingly cooking wholesome food for a world hungry for sustenance fills not only tummies, but hearts and souls as the bowls never emptied and the smell of fresh bread reminded me that there is still some goodness in a world drunk on cheap GMO yeast.
I learnt that the tenacity and care of a wiser-than-wise friend who never stops giving of herself, one hundred times over, brings life-giving hope to a friend who is not worthy of being called a friend, for the one hundred times she did not want to leave her (un) safe room.
So as I drove home, playing Roger Waters on full blast in the car, crying so much that I was battling to see the lines on the road, between worn mascara and smudged moisturiser, I got it. I understood what waiting for her truly meant for me.
I had the honour of hearing ten women share their souls, and much of the sharing not in words, on how they have waited for her, how they have patiently waited for her, to love and cherish and care for the one soul they will always carry with them, their own. As they knew that soul would for ever, forward and backward help other souls notice that self-wait, for her, is what it takes to remember the promises she made.