glories and graces.

searching for an achievement to celebrate i turn around in the moment and look back towards my birth. What do i see. I see a succession of landscapes. Some are deep green meadows, slumbering under a blanket of light, some narrow concrete corners chewing on dust. and through them all a narrow ribbon of light and a coyote shadow. together these two represent all the small victories and failures that make up the achievement of my life.

grabbing the ribbon in my hand i dive into the shadow. a memory appears.

it is a bright clear day in the Karoo, 1979. Sun reflects from the sky found in a kidney shaped pool. Light dances through the water streaming down the backs of children breaking from the pool's blue surface and plunging back into its coolness. outside me laughter and movement. inside me doubt. desperately i scan the scene looking for patterns to emulate and become part of the whole. my face feels stiff, my mouth dry. Time slows down yet i am unable of the moment until i am able to unlock its secret.

the moment shifts into another. my first LDS experience. Laying on the soft grass of a local park i am unable to hear the sound of the stream nearby or sense my companions. i am locked into three interlocking thoughts visually represented by three moving kaleidoscope patterns. the first is. i am fine. the second: its just the acid. the third: it will end. but the thoughts are impatient. instead of waiting for each to fully appear they jostle into each other merging their patterns before their meaning has time to crystallize. Five hours later they finally fade away.

these experiences are repeated over and over. the shadow stalks me through failures like surrendering my self respect and body in a desperate plea for love, through hiding from myself and others in drug experiences and through running from the stresses of the corporate world. The ribbon glides The ribbon glides through the achievements of joining a martial arts school and discovering the strength and flexibility of my body, in overcoming my addiction and in finding the stamina to finish my degree with the highest marks in my class. the ribbon is woven from three strands. the ability to keep on trying, to have compassion for myself in my deepest hours of self doubt and self loathing and the belief in a deeper more joyously mysterious reality than the one i often feel stuck in.

i come to honor the warrior maiden leaping forth from the ribbon's light. sometimes she runs screaming towards the shadow brandishing a arrow of light. sometimes she slowly stalks the shadow until it falls asleep and she can quietly sit next to it watching its history swirl through its powerful wild body. she does not give up. i do not give up.

i strain to be born into a new reality. i collect new age mediums, Buddhist meditations, chi-gung breathing techniques, kundalini chants and the songs of the wind breathing from the sky. i open up to my pain and i focus on my breathing allowing a reality beyond my pain to shyly reveal itself. slowly i introduce movement to flower from paralyzed moments.

help comes from many places. a wise chi-gung master opens my eyes, a gentle Taiwanese nun opens my heart. my friends listen to me and tell me why they love me. members of my family holds me in acceptance and lifts me with their prayers. voices speak from books, sings from cds and whisper from the delicate petals of flowers.

again and again i slip behind the barriers i erected in my mind and around my heart. a fear of others, of getting things wrong, of rejection, of freezing and becoming unable to belong. i keep on hunting. running towards and away from myself.

when i return from the hunt, tired, discouraged, angry, scared and sad I release the need to know. i gently call myself back, wind the ribbon around my little finger and fall backwards into the vastness of the unknown. in letting go of reason i can also let go of its deep mistrust. out of the unknown a presence emerges. she holds me in her arms and sings of unconditional love and hope. at her feet my shadow snores. above us the bright free sky, below us the warm safe earth.

i am grateful.

birthing myself

i am unsure when the me who wants to be present in this world was born.

i do however remember the exact moment this self miscarried. at the age of nine i first became aware of my power to be. to become a self who is deeply rooted in a wish to be seen, acknowledged and heard when speaking of that which move me. the sound of the wind through trees. the sun catching a leave and then slowly letting it go as it travels onward across the sky. the home which every night awaits it beyond the first evening star. i also became aware of the pain born from not being acknowledged. from not being able to assert my power. from being swept into the conflicts, feelings and fears generated by a family of six. from failing to create a place of safety for us all.

sitting next to a river, flowing past a small stop and sleep-over bed and breakfast, i invited my newly forming self to leave my body. to flow from me and into the round smooth stone beside me. i then gently placed the stone into the river and asked it to take care of this small part of me. to sing to her and lull her until i was ready to claim her once again.

when did i claim back this seed from the river?

did it first take hold in my womb when i allowed myself to dream of creating a future rather than just dreaming of a true home beyond the stars?

did i become aware that i was pregnant when i woke up one morning in my own flat, after rushing away from the disorganized and demanding presence of my first long time lover, only to find myself missing him more than i missed the security of not missing anyone?

and when was i born? when i surrendered to a cesarean rather than a home birth? when rather than drifting above the room in order to escape from the humiliation of a shaved vagina pried open to the bright operating lights and a catheter, i pulled myself back into the room, my body and my chant so that i was fully present to the wonder of my daughter's first breath?

or during the visit to a sexologist when i whispered my deeply private sexual history and fantasies past the flush on my face, the lock on my throat and the frantic lock around my heart? forcing my sexual voice through layers of shame until it burst into this world, this moment, shouting its joy and defiance?

and am i born and reborn every time i hold my friend, my sister, my mother, my lover, my daughter in my heart? when a need to hold and rock my daughter pulls me into this body, this world? My breasts get tightly full, dripping milk on my clothes, my pillow, my sheets. in the first months i found myself singing to her in a freezing bathroom at three in the morning, holding her naked body close to mine and trying to ignore the small puddle of milk forming around my feet and the cold which her small blanket cannot protect me from. now i build a life each day becoming a stone which holds me steady as her small stream joins with those whom i love and become a river which surrounds me.

my birth.

We come spinning out of nothingness,scattering stars like dust.Rumi

when did i first get born?

was it in the instance when finite matter became an infinitesimally small, infinitely hot, infinitely dense singularity which in turn inflated, self imploded into the universe we now know?

or when rda molecules bloomed into dna, starting a chain of ancestors who all came together when my parents eyes first met?

or did i get born when i gave birth to you my lovely daughter? when under the knife of the surgeon my heart opened and i loved you from a place where i always before felt alone? the place which previously made me long to return to a place and time before my birth?

and will i now infinitely get born and reborn through your eyes meeting that of another?

for as long as i had memory there was a myth surrounding my birth. my father had to fetch the obstetrician from a new year's party. meanwhile, back at the hospital my mother's screams cut through the bullshit of medical bureaucracy. after being bullied, for a month, by a new doctor, his carefully impenetrable birth calculations, and his faithful nurse to shut up, hold back labor and wait until they said the time is now, she had enough. not another minute would she wait. her birth time was now.

so my father dramatically entered the phalaborwa new years ball, crying out that his wife was in labor and in need of her doctor. in my child's imagination, women in bright silk dresses and men in formal black tuxedos parted, allowing the doctor, holding a martini glass and a thin brown cigar, to step through. then, with my father leading the way, thoroughly embarrassed by the laughter and his simple safari suit, the two men stepped into the very first, very early morning of 1972.

As with most myths, a curtain remained drawn across the more intimate physical and emotional processes of the actual birth, the logistics of who took care of the other children and the political turmoil splitting open the country of birth.

why i write

words.

how can words

ever define

birth,

love,

the fiercely delicate

shape of your eyebrows

your eyes

which see me

without reflecting words

back at me.

your smell,

the warm solid softness

of your neck

where my nose

and your shoulder meet.

with each beat

of my heart

the space around me grows

until

the room,

the yellow indian quilt,

your delicately shaped skull

and the soft fine hair

which covers it,

the sound of your breathing,

dog sighs emerging

from down under

the bed,

the warmth of you,

the hiss of the heater

and

the loud beating of my heart

...

swirls around

and becomes mystery.

the mystery of this moment.

of you.

words are not moments.

they are only markers

which in time

could lead me back

to this.

this moment. this love.

a gift

this is just a small post

because i want to start blogging

again

but don't always have the time.

at present i juggle time

between my new love

and my old

the dishes

the wusels

learning the tarot

going to yoga

starting a women's writing circle

exploring links between children, nature and spirit

researching career development in biodiversity

writing about food security and community gardens.

some days i feel like my life have never been

as rich and full

of love and joy.

some days i feel like my life will never be

what it can be.

today i received

the gift of a few hours

all by myself.

i cleaned the house

made some lunch

am doing a bit of blogging

rushing so that

now....

now i am ready to step

into this beautiful day

with a camera in hand

and a heart which seeks

out beauty*

a-life

where to start?

with the rain outside.

the smell of it

the way its coolness makes the late dusk seem bluer?

or with tiny doors opening

to show glimpses beyond patterns

so old they seemed like an undeniable part of life.

great rolling waves of resistance

against change sometimes

makes my days disappear.

lack of sleep sometimes

makes me disappear.

and then i pick up a broom

and start sweeping a small corner

so that i can do five morning exercises.

i cook lunch early so i have time

to walk the dogs after my yoga class.

i get a call from a friend.

phoenix starts a new tongue movement

it keeps her occupied for many minutes.

slowly a new me is carried closer

by a great blue stork

flying across a dusky sky

the blue so close

to the color of her wings

that i almost cannot see her.

mother moon goddess

each night i am momentarily fooled by a streetlight doubling as the moon. i glimpse her through the corner of the bathroom window turning a small spiderweb to a rainbow and the blackness of the night to indigo blue.

being a mother is teaching me about being the moon. about moving closer to god and my spirit. about finding the moons and mothers which surround and is enfolded within me.

as a child all i longed for was to be absorbed in an absolute light. an all knowing god that would sweep me up in his arms and love me totally. who would save me from all the suffering of not feeling good enough. as a young teenager i surrendered to drugs and the oblivion they brought. in their embrace i could see the beauty of the world and celebrate it free of fear. after rehab i once again started desperately searching for a god who could liberate me and send me flying high up through the stars.

for a while before my pregnancy my search once again intensified. i started searching for god in nature, in the old gods and goddesses of india and europe. i chanted and prayed and meditated. at times i felt myself growing light as a feather drifting on a breeze. lighter and lighter until i became the leaves glowing in starlight or dust motes dancing in the late afternoon sun.

now i hold a phoenix in my arms. she smiles at me, cries for me and needs me to love her all the time. i cannot escape from myself or her. i am pulled into this body. my arms are needed to hold her and rock her. My legs follow my feet in stomping out a gentle rhythm to sooth her pain. my breasts get tightly full dripping milk on my clothes, my pillow my sheets. i find myself singing to her in a freezing bathroom at three in the morning, holding her naked body close to mine and trying to ignore the small puddle of milk forming around my feet. her fluffy blanket keeps her warm but is not big enough for the two of us.

i love her slow smile with eyes lighting up as she gently allows a new sliver of our world to slip into hers. i love the smiles that flash like light across the deep calmness of her eyes. i love the soft warmth of her skull cradled in my hand and the heavy weight of her when she falls asleep in my arms. i love that i cannot hide from her.

she lures or tears me out of my safe isolation from where i use to search for god. she turns my longing to escape into a dream of being more fully present in love.

last night i went to bed crying

this morning i woke up crying.

i am so tired.

not knowing how much longer

i can put one foot in front of the other

and keep on going

scares me.

i fight with my partner,

he storms out and leave the two of us alone.

me and the person i now love fiercely.

who makes my heart expand into

more joy than i have ever known.

i cry some more.

waves of sadness hit me when i think

of making lunch

or having to get up

to walk the passage.

up and down.

gently massaging the wind

that rages through a small body

causing my heart,

which i carefully balance on my shoulder,

to cry with rage and pain.

i want to sleep.

or go to the beach. go dancing. make love.

have a bath.

or a cup of tea.

instead i feed her.

as she latches on love pushes against sadness.

we lie down on the bed.

i listen to my neighbors getting on with their lives.

she falls asleep.

an hour later she is still sleeping.

the freedom goes to my head and makes me smile.

yet every now and again i check if she is still breathing.

her smell fills my world.

the memory of her smile makes me stronger.

once more i am ready to walk.

watching my life contracting and expanding.

birth

once in a time far, far away I consulted a past life regression therapist.

at the time i was eager to birth a new life, and yet, I was finding it hard to care deeply about anything.

As a result I flitted from new age therapy to new age therapy, feeling alive shortly for each colorful session while under the illusion that i was reaching towards realities which seemed brighter and more complete than this one.

as we started the regression session i felt little emotion. my past lives drifted past like shadows.

Wearing a bright yellow dress I listlessly drifted across a glowing green lawn divided with grey stone walls and fountains.

Pigs gathered around me as i stood staring into a deep well.

A low white building hid me from view and allowed me to drift to sleep amongst purple lavender hedges.

i become aware that this session is not living up to my expectations. slowly my vision starts changing.

I see silver balls suspended from delicate strings. A slight movement in one triggered movement in the others. a voice speaks from deep within my heart. It tells me that i need to become fully present in each molecule of my being. That only then will i understand the subtle movements of my cells and my story. that only then will i truly feel and experience my life. Until then my past lives will mean as little to me as my present.

18 years later i give birth to my beautiful daughter phoenix.

three days after the birth i my doula comes to my house to do a massage integrating the pregnancy and birth process into my being. she asks me to write down what came up so that we can work with where i am at in our next session.

Below are my notes. i would love to edit them further but then this mail might take another week to be published :)

i find myself standing outside a door. Not going in. My whole pregnancy had a feeling of unreality, of not fully committing, of not wanting to bring it to conclusion.

most sensation occurs inside my head. as i focus it moves down to my throat. there is a constriction here which becomes tighter down towards my chest. during my pregnancy i found it hard to verbalize what i want and stick to it. when my gynecologist insisted on booking a elective ceasar earlier than i was comfortable, rather than giving phoenix a bit more time to turn so that we could do a natural birth, i could have shown more resistance, yet as soon as he showed his anger and irritation i just agreed to his demands.

during the massage i hear my baby and a feeling of deep sadness wells up from my heart as i realise how easy it will be to get swept back into life, rushing around, switching off - allowing this time this opportunity, this birth, this small miracle pass by. i am also aware of flo - worried that he is feeling left out and sad - feeling this sadness as outside myself makes it difficult to go deeper within. similarly when having to make a decision about having a c-section it was easier to give in to time streaming past, to be pressurized into something by doctor, to worry about him and his receptionist and what their expectations are than to slow time down and make a decision from the moment.

i go into sadness - only to pop back into my head. i am thinking about what feeling of constriction could mean. while the c-section was happening i could not really feel it especially in the beginning. i felt very removed from the experience.

I am standing on the edge. Perfectly balanced. Neither moving forward of backward. Itta asks me to allow myself to fall forward and see what happens. with c-section i also never fully committed to agreeing to c-section or fighting for natural birth. i hovered between the two - and kept trying to put of birth and final decision as if i could hover in the last stages of pregnancy forever.

During the c-section the mantra, not my will thy will brought me back into the moment, awful as it was, and helped me feel safe enough to do so. the reason i was able to stay in the moment was that i was not worried about whether i was thinking and feeling the right thing. i could surrender to a greater will.

I feel a fear of the unknown, of not being able to let go - of always hovering - i let go anyway. once i surrendered to the birth and a will greater than my own i was able to move forward, to be present and to welcome phoenix feeling completely present in that moment.

Become aware of expansiveness of lower body. i feel a shiver down my left hip. when i surrendered to what was happening and allowed the birth to happen it expanded into an experience so deep and beautiful that it became the whole world and changed me forever.

Tightness in chest, busyness in head, expansiveness from navel downwards - when i a m not fully present my head, heart and belly are often out of sync.

as i enter deeper into the uncertainty i see a red-brown colour followed by the following visual.First in the same colour a pattern represented on linoleum. then a fifties housewife. picture perfect in her sparkling kitchen and removed from reality. She looks like my mother. this is the woman who prefers an elective c-section. She has sold out to other people's idea of who she should be. like her kitchen the c-section theater is "clean, manageable and sterilized".

i keep on falling. As i expand i feel the sadness of others inside Sadness about those i love and the things that cause them suffering, that makes them feel excluded. flo, my mother and my siblings. I feel sadness for Flo, for his lost potential, for not always being supported, for not being allowed to be all that he is while he was little. During the c-section, I was also very aware of Flo and his need to be close to his daughter. I let him hold her when there was a part of me that desperately wanted her to be in my arms and close to me.

As the sadness expands i also start feeling a sadness for my own lost potential as well as the constant burden of feeling not good enough. one of the greatest challenges of the c-section was a feeling of failing at natural birth. From the moment i arrived at the hospital i felt judged for doing a c-section. I felt like i had to explain myself to everyone in the hospital. I felt as if the nurses' stand-off-ishness was somehow linked to my failure to deliver naturally. I felt very scared of the procedure ahead and instead of feeling supported in this i felt disregarded.

Another vision appears. This time it is a blue ceramic pattern of a russian forest. i remember a childhood there filled with mystery and magic. Now the borders have shifted and the forest no longer forms part of siberia but is now owned by the russian state and politicians. In a similar way the magic of my daughter’s birth has been institutionalised. It now fell under the control of the medical system, the hospital regulations and the staff.

As the massage progresses I start feeling more and more like a baby. I start recognising my daughter's movements in my own. I also become aware that i cannot work through the sadness and emotions of others for them. I am separate from them. It is in the increasing feeling of separateness that the feeling of expansion grows from. Being separate also enables me to respond more appropriately to the sadness of others, to connect

to them from a heart firmly rooted in self rather than blending into their emotions. To give Phoenix what she needs to feel secure I also need to be fully present in my own seperate self. Chanting the mantra and listening to my own music took me to such a place during the c-section. despite my fear and the feeling of vulnerability caused by the impersonal yet invasive procedure and setting, I felt God's presence and will closely guiding and holding me close.

as Itta gently pulls on my hair it feels like I am being pulled and birthed into my own body and when she holds her hands over my ears I feel like a baby in the womb listening to my mother's heart beat. I see myself as a baby and i see myself in my baby.