A Dedication to My Daughter, A New Mother

In the heart of every loving parent, there lives a secret wish. It is a deep wish that when the time comes for our children to meet their own rites of passage they will be able to do so successfully. For a parent this is bearing witness to a shedding of a skin that initiates their child into adulthood. For the adult child it is a firm step over a threshold to claim one's personal and natural power.

I had the privilege two weeks ago on Super Bowl Sunday, Feburary 1, 2015 to experience my daughter Irisa enter motherhood. She brought into this world with her partner Ryan, a healthy little baby girl who will be known as Sophia (the wise one). Witnessing her committed focus, grounded strength, impressive calmness and a confidence that defies her age but not her soul, I experienced Iris fully embody the characteristic qualities of true feminine wisdom and power in action. 

It is during moments when the thin veil of life and death are so closely encountered that our primal instincts are intensely heightened and reality comes into sharp focus. Nothing else is present except the NOW. Although birth is the most physical natural act a woman can ever experience, it is simultaneously, mind altering too. It demands her undivided attention so that every aspect of her feminine power is distilled. 

Her reproductive gate keeper ( the cervix) is required to thin itself away and respond expansively in proportion to the life that passes through. While a woman's body endures the challenge to stretch beyond what her imagination allows, emotionally, she becomes transparent with no place to hide; psychologically, her stability is on the line and she needs to find her own touchstone; spiritually, she may have psychic awakenings that give her channeled inspiration. Her need to surrender into the muscular contractions that manipulate her baby through the final descent of her birth canal, connects her to her feminine body like no other sensual, sexual act ever could. A birthing woman's body quakes while her internal tectonic plates shift and involuntary, rhythmic pattern of oceanic waves build upon one another. Her body made of clay, air, fire, water and spirit changes rapidly to meet emerging new life. If she is lucky, she will find some inner connection with each contraction that allows her to surf through sensations and come to her inner shoreline. There she may enter into the most unusual, fleeting moment of a deep state of rest. While it only lasts a minute, she is aware that she this hallow state of peace exist for her. Every story of labor is unique to each woman. For some, it may be short, for others it last hours or days.  When the mysterious cosmology of time finally arrives and the newborn moves close enough to the sphere of entry governed by space, gravity and time, the mother's urge to push is undeniable and non negotiable.

While every woman enters the natural childbirth process with the greatest hope for a successful outcome, it is the hand of fate that often determines what unfolds. Regardless of how a mother brings her child into this world the act in and of itself bonds them for life.  Anyone who is privileged to be present before a laboring woman is truly touched by the strength, fortitude, courage and passion a women possesses. I have been asked to accompany the birth of three women in my life, including my daughter. Each birth was powerful and completely different. In two of the three, the end result was life. In one situation, a dear friend labored her child out of her womb knowing that he was already stillborn. The initiation into motherhood is always full of struggle, risk, joy and fate.

While we know as women that there are no guarantees, we continue to believe in the procreative power of life. Every birthing mother is a feminine warrior. She surrenders her body to this final act of creation and whether she goes natural or has a caesarian is irrelevant. Her body unites with this relentless, primordial force of nature coursing through her. She becomes a co-creative goddess birthing creation itself. Her blessed body is forever anointed as a vessel of creation offering life. 

Iris had confidence in herself, in her body and in those she surrounded herself with for support. Her partner Ryan, her midwife, her nurse, her doula and me, her mother. Today, I pay tribute to my daughter Irisa who is blessed with a new family. I also pay tribute to all Mothers as they are warriors. They put their own lives on the front line to bring life into the world.  Mothers are madonnas. From the fountains of their breast they share the nectar of sacred nourishment for the welfare of their child. Mothers are wisdom carriers. They learn to listen to their bodies, cultivate instincts and intuitions that allow them to trust and respond to the sacred messages that are vital to their own and their child's wellbeing. Mothers are virgins. They lay naked and vulnerable before Spirit and Mother Nature while they offer their bodies as sacrificial birthing vessels. Mothers are sisters. They share an initiation that changes their lives forever.  Mothers are lovers. They are invited to practice for the rest of their lives the spiritual path of unconditional love. Mothers are daughters. They belong to us all.

 Thank You Irisa!

RIVER OF LIFE, CURRENT OF POSSIBILITIES

Recently, I broke a promise that I had made to myself when I first started writing this blog . I said to myself "write once a week Ellen, no matter what". Well, I guess the old adage is right, promises are made to be broken, because not having enough matter has not been my issue. Nearly a month has gone by and not one word had I written. Why?, sometimes the words were scripting across my mind in such rapidly fury that the unfolding stories of my experiences would have filled volumnes. Other times, I could not find a single word to describe my feelings because I hadn't yet had the time to digest my quantitative and qualitative events. In these moments, my tongue lay silent and dormant, waiting to name these hallmark moments that could do justice to my soul.

Perhaps my truth is simply this; sometimes, I jump into the river of life and feel adequately prepared to trust in the current of possibilities that move me forward. When the rapids appear, I begin to feel my adrenaline rising with the water level and I remind myself that saying yes to life, is not without risk. It never fails that once my nervous system has thoroughly kicked into high gear and I am in new territory, that my "eddies" appear. An Eddy is an unstable water vortexthat creates turbulant circular motions driven by an air current; much like a perfect psychic storm, when I am in emotional overload, I begin to over think my situation and excess self analysis begins. Now, I am living in my head and am temporarily doomed.  When I lose connection to my body, I lose connection to my essential wisdom and my ability to navigate through any tumultuousness.  These psychic eddies trap me in a temporarily state of internal self doubt and review that calls forth all the "what if" and "if only".  When I am finally thrown back out of the eddy to continue on my way, I am left, once again, humble, sleep deprived, vulnerable and wiser. I have come to learn and accept that this is our natural part of any good journey.  

Yes, my days as well as my nights, have been full and long with emotions of haunting sentiment. While I prepared the traditional foods on Good Friday for Easter dinner, in the absence of my mother, who passed one year ago on Good Friday, my daughter and  friends helped me, entertained me and surrounded me with their love. It was for the love of her and my grandmother that each year I partake in this ritual of rolling dough, then filling, folding and pinching together our infamous Ukrainian pirogies. There were moments this year that my eye caught the similarity of my own bony and muscular hands and  that of my Grandmother's hands. In these moments, I smiled inwardly and felt her presence coming through. Continuing this simple tradition is the closest I can get to touching her and my mother, so I don't imagine I will end this Spring tradition any time soon. 

I also celebrated twin birthdays as I do every year with my daughter Iris, who was born at home in my woodland sanctuary thirty years ago. Each year, I relive the memory of her birth with all its power and spiritual blessings. I remember myself as a young mother, who possessed a primordial power of fearlessness and confidence in my feminine body. I had utter trust in my body and in Spirit, that I would know how to move my baby through the dark birth canal and coax her out into the light. She had a translucent quality about her the day she was born, a light which has never left her.

In this same month, I had the opportunity to create, with my ex husband, Pat,  a sacred ceremony that brought a healing closure to our marriage together as a couple. We were able to define the love and light that we shared, as the young lovers and believers that we dared to be.  We acknowledged our efforts and the ways we will always be a part of a family, while we now live apart. We spent time washing clear the past wounding that we caused one another as well as, exalted in the two lovers who took the risk to love unconditionally. I am grateful that we are able to be wise and mature enough to dignify our relationship again even as it transforms once more. Most couples never have the opportunity to create such important rites of passage and blessings of transition are as important as anything meaningful. It is one of the great failings of our society that doesn't offer more rituals of healing. 

Finally, in this time of spring renewal, I have made a new move into a relationship that involved me moving all my belongings into a new home. Packing, sorting, recycling, gifting, remembering, releasing, laughing, crying and holding on to those meaningful, energetic objects that tell the tale of my journey to date, as I continue down the river of possibilities.