a poem for women approaching birth

Mother, Music
. . . . . . .
My dear sister.
You are embarking
on an indescribable journey.
In one month or so,
you will leave the harbor
you have called home
for so long,
and find yourself
on a shamanic journey
like no other.
You will go to depths
I cannot tell you about,
for they will be yours.
You will experience highs
I cannot imagine,
for they will be yours,
tethered to the soul
you have been holding space for
and will continue to hold space for,
a soul whose face
you will come to know
so very well.

When you look in the mirror
in several months
you will see a very different woman.
Your heart will be raw
from all that loving,
and all the waves that await you
on the unfathomable sea
of this journey.
Your body will ache
From the weight of the
love in your arms.
You will be reborn
in a way only motherhood
can mysteriously make possible.

I have come to believe
that there is no other initiation
more radical in its reshaping of a woman
than the process of
onto the earthen floor
of this very planet.
Blood of our blood,
bone of our bone,
veins like vines
within our garden,
forever turning, ever evolving,
We deliver renewal
with the fierce grace
of our babies entrance.

Your birth will reshape you
and everything around you.
Your child will become
the sun in your life
around which everything
will revolve.
You will become
the sun in your child’s life,
around which
an entire cosmology revolves.
You will also become
the sun around which
Your family revolves.
You are the light from which life beams.
You are the cup from which
your family drinks.
You are the flower bed
from which it all grows.
Your beloved must remain close
to fill and refill
your cup, tending the Earth of you
in the way only he knows how.
Your friends and family
must retain a keen listening
for how they may support you
in the planting and
replanting of the flowers you love,
in the filling and refilling
of your cup
which will be emptied,
many times in one day.

You must remember
in the ancient weave of your soul
the ways in which we let go
and so let in.
I’ve come to believe that when
we are emptied,
as a flute is emptied
by a skilled creator:
carved out, hollowed,
notched and
whittled away
with sacred intention
from raw material,
the music of our lives
makes sense.
The phenomena of the
most beautiful notes
can be heard with clarity,
and there is a resonance
that heals not
only the naked vessel,
but all those who
hear our song.

Do not resist the sacred hollowing
that approaches.
Welcome the hands of the master craftsman
who has already begun to work on you.
Maiden To Mother,
Mother to Music.
We are the ones who sing the song
of tomorrow,
through the sacred mundane of every today,
guiding, loving, listening
calling in the heavens
and bringing them here to earth.

I bless you, oh graceful one.

May your passage through the ring of fire be infused with trust, love, surrender, and beauty. May your child’s journey to earth be a marvelous adventure, a sacred dance, with a gentle landing… and may the love that will be ignited within your new family ripple across time and space, informing us all.

I love and cherish you and I wish you all the best.


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