Something wants to be born
I can feel it churning, yearning, tossing and turning
Incubating, gestating, waiting…
For what? For the water to break? For the earth to shake? For my skin to dissolve leaving only bones bare bones upon the moist earth to be chewed and gnawed and composted so that I can be part of the earth again. I AM part of her still, and she is part of me. Every cell of my being wants me to see…
This light that is burning, yearning, unfurling itself … creeping and crawling along my connective tissues to release my issues and maybe give me an ISSU, an exit.. to emerge and converge with the endless source of life.
Or maybe what I need is an entrance? An entrance to this womb space a room of grace a place to face this …thing… that wants to be born
Oh but it holds on for so long it clings even though it wants to sing– it loves the silence…
And so I sit softly still, listening to the silent, secret sounds of the unborn
It seems to love the warm, foggy storm.
Yes, this unborn is loving being unformed, un-normed, un-conformed, un-shaped, un-raped by duality and the eyes of society.
This unborn is LOVING the storm, the clouds, the hail, as it wails and screams to unstitch the steams and awaken to the real dream that has yet to be seen.
Yes, unstitching the steams, it seems this unborn is ripping apart what is known as it moans to reveal …the bare bones floating in murky waters , cartilage, marrow and flesh, bare bones, bare bones upon my bare breast
Naked truth, there’s no fountain of youth or body of plastic perfection. It’s a fountain of life it’s death and dissection. It’s decay and chaos and from this messy storm all can be reborn.
I bless this mess as it undresses me to see my bare chest– lest I must forget this barren land, stolen ground, naked earth, I’m sorry. The pieces of land stolen by man are floating in my uterus, and they’re heavy. Every month I bleed, release, expulse, lighten the load and cry, the red waters that are so longing to purify our souls; the souls of those who sacrificed their bodies and lands for our greedy power-tripping hands. To feed the fragmented anxiety of this ugly fabrication called society? I feel disgusted.
Well guess what…? I have been the victim AND the perpetrator, the target AND the instigator, the healer AND the troublemaker. All these roles, all these souls, all these molds and stories untold, all these folds of time I’ve controlled… I forgive all these parts of me. This feeling of disgust is like seaweed… its texture is strange like goo but yet so nutritious and good for you. It’s cooling too, to calm the badaboom bada bang fire of extreme yang and bring us in, into the yin, to begin breathing with the ocean.
Let this disgust wakame up, transform into trust, a must to feel and embody, just to heal this temple body. May it evolve and dissolve and absolve all the sins that lie within this ancestry, to leave some space for the unborn to take its place in a new family.
Actually, the unborn is happy where it is for now. Until it feels this world is a place to feel safe, seen, heard, and received, it’s gonna set up camp and… just breathe. The time will come when the water will break. The dams we have built will collapse and our womb will at last give birth to new life… so make sure you get your white coat on, ‘cause it just might get messy from then on…