birth

at the bedside of the Goddess

I was in the midst of writing a piece about my initiation through unmedicated birth, when my dear friend and sister, Melissa, went into labor.

I wrote about how the ferocity required to birth new life is the same ferocity as the earth’s crashing waves and her volcanic eruptions - how the raw rage-like ferocity a mother must embody as she pushes a child from her womb to earth is a pure kind of power and medicine all on its own, and that mothers who choose not to numb their bodies during that gateway might access that power in a special way. I wrote about how that rage-power fuels primordial Life’s self protective and regenerative qualities, and how it gives woman power throughout her life to survive, transform and change the world - how the birth portal opens up that innate power inside her.

And then suddenly, quite literally, I was at the bedside of the Goddess, screaming her way through the unspeakable intensity of labor. She was in a gorgeous summer dress, patterned pink and golden maroon, hands white, gripping the labor bar, her long hair hanging over her face, stuck to her arms from the sweat dripping down her body. She was screaming - deep guttural cries of pain as the skull and shoulders of this tiny (not so tiny) body moved his way down and out of hers.

I stayed by her side like a stone, watching, listening and holding her eyes in mine. You got this. You can do this. Steady as a rock.

After the baby came her legs were shaking and bloody, her hair was one enormous tangle and this tiny (not so tiny) human was hugging her belly, connected by the long pale umbilical cord still attached inside her belly. She wept.

She birthed the placenta and kept it in a little bucket next to her for a while. We wrapped her feet in warm blankets, her legs, belly, chest. We covered her head, and his, we listened to her speak.

Birth is a bloody affair. It’s full of fluids, pain and uncertainty. Plans get torched, bones crack, tissues tear. It requires woman to endure, embody and reenact Creation - a transformative power she has never experienced before. To bring new life onto this earth is no small matter. It is an incredible, physical and spiritual marathon for the mama, and should be seriously and deeply revered by all humans.

That is all for now. Have a nice day.

Thank you for reading this edition of Wild Leaf, an undulating landscape of meaning, poetry and what it seems to be a mother in these times. Please click the little ❤️ at the bottom of the page here so more readers can find this publication. Paid subscriptions support these works in a big way, thank you. You can also always: Buy Me A Coffee.