The Eden arc — Motherhood as the sacred call to coherence | 05.23.2025
Yesterday morning began with a whisper—one of those quiet synchronicities that catches your attention not with volume, but with frequency.
I had been seeing more of Zach Bush’s work recently on Instagram, drawn to his language of reverence and regeneration. Other than his reverberant truth, I really didn’t know much about his origin story. When I landed on his website, I noticed the name of his foundation: Seraphic Group. And something stirred.
The seraphim—also known as the burning ones—appear in only one place in Scripture, Isaiah 6. Described as heavenly beings with six wings, they dwell in the innermost presence of God, crying out “Holy, holy, holy” as they burn with divine love. These are not angels of gentle light or soft robes—they are beings of refining fire, of holy awe, of eternal worship. They do not act from will—they exist in pure coherence with the Divine: their being and presence in perfect alignment with divine order, untainted by ego or separation.
It’s not a word you come across in your day-to-day scroll. And yet, there it was. Clear as flame. And I knew it wasn’t coincidence.
Like Moses before the bush that burned but did not consume, I leaned in.
What followed was a flood of remembrance. A vision of motherhood not as a task but as a holy pattern—one that echoes Eden itself: the coherence of creation, the rupture of exile, and the sacred return.
This blog is that vision—a flame in words. An offering for the mothers standing barefoot on sacred ground, wondering why it sometimes feels like fire.
The seraphim, in some traditions, are also described as being covered with eyes—symbols of infinite awareness and sacred witnessing. They do not act to control; they behold. And in that beholding, they burn with love. This is the invitation of motherhood, too: to witness our children in their unfolding. To see them clearly, not as extensions of our unmet dreams, but as whole beings becoming. Not to mold, but to marvel. Not to direct, but to discern and attend with reverence.
There is a sacred pattern written into every soul, and motherhood offers us a front-row seat to its unfolding. It’s the Eden Arc: Eden → Exile → Return—a spiritual and psychological journey from innocence, through rupture, into conscious wholeness.
Our children are born in Eden. They arrive in perfect coherence—fully aligned with their bodies, sensations, spirits, and the natural world around them. They do not question their worth or their place in the world. They simply are.
You see it in the way a child will crouch for minutes to watch a beetle cross the sidewalk, unaffected by the urgency of schedules. They're not wondering if they’re enough or on time—they’re simply immersed, rooted in presence. This is Eden embodied.
And when they cry or rage, their expression is whole and true—it moves through them like weather. No pretense, no shame. Just pure coherence with their internal state. This is not immaturity—it is wisdom we forget as we grow.
Our role is not to force them out of Eden prematurely, but to honor that original state. To learn from it, and prepare them gently for the rupture to come—not with fear, but with presence.
And the exile always comes. Self-awareness arises. Identity begins to form. Shame enters the picture. This is not failure—it is part of the design. The rupture, the disconnection, is the beginning of individuation.
And so the journey begins—not back to innocence, but toward mature coherence. Toward integration. Toward the New Earth.
As mothers, we are not meant to prevent this journey. We are meant to shepherd it. To serve as lanterns in the dusk of becoming—offering warmth and light without rushing the night away—mirroring the seraphim who do not act to control, but to behold. Like them, we are invited to illuminate rather than impose, to burn steadily in presence rather than extinguish the mystery of unfolding. We cannot stop the exile, but we can model how to return.
And perhaps even more than that—we participate in a pattern that mirrors the divine. For God, too, initiates coherence, allows rupture, and offers return. It is the sacred rhythm embedded in all of creation: union, separation, and reunion. To mother is to echo this rhythm with our lives.
If Eden is coherence, exile is fragmentation. And return is the conscious, embodied choice to live in right relation—with God, with creation, and with one another.
This is what we mean by coherence: a state of alignment between our inner and outer worlds. In biology, it’s nervous system regulation. In relationships, it’s emotional attunement. Spiritually, it’s living in harmony with divine order.
This same idea shows up across traditions:
In the Vedas, it is Rita—cosmic harmony
In Hebrew thought, it is righteousness—right relation with God and others
In mysticism, it is union—integration of body, soul, and Spirit
Motherhood invites us to coherence not through perfection, but through presence. It’s not about always staying calm—it’s about returning to our center when we’ve strayed. Our children don’t need us to avoid rupture—they need us to show them how to repair.
This is the true calling of a mother in the Eden Arc: to walk the upward spiral of rupture and repair, to be the first mirror of holy return.
When we pause to breathe before reacting, we model coherence.
When we name our dysregulation and choose to reconnect, we model coherence.
When we apologize, soften, and stay attuned through difficulty, we model coherence.
In doing so, we plant Eden in the child’s nervous system. We show them: it is safe to be human. Safe to rupture. Safe to return.
This is not easy work. It stretches us, humbles us, and reveals the edges of our own becoming. It is sanctifying work. And it refines us as surely as it raises them.
But first, let us remember what this flame is.
Like Moses before the burning bush, we are invited to see our fire not as destruction, but as calling.
“Do not come any closer,” God said. “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.” (Exodus 3:5)
Motherhood places us on sacred ground—not because it’s tidy or easy, but because it is the space where we are refined and assigned.
The flame does not consume us. It calls us. It sanctifies us.
So let us simplify the calling:
We are here to remain coherent in the presence of our children.
We are here to model how to navigate rupture with repair.
We are here to live in harmony with what is holy and whole.
And in doing so, we are not only guiding their growth—we are growing too. We are being sanctified by the same fire. The same exile. The same return.
You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to return.
Eden lives in you.
And every dish washed, every tear wiped, every moment of repair is a brick in the foundation of the New Earth.
Let it be holy.
Let it burn.
Let it make you whole.
In love + light,
April