The Spiritual Midwife
“I am just a baby,” she says to me. “I am crawling. There is so much
I know, but I have to learn it again in this life.” Her voice a pure river
over me as she sings, shaking a rattle over my belly. “I’m just
going to do what feels right. Is that ok with you?” My body lurches
on the table, sobs exploding from the core of me. How deeply
it trusts her, bares unnamed demons in complete vulnerability.
How easily her faith in her intuition, the cosmic wisdom,
envelops me. I reflect her later in my dazed lightness –
she thanks me. Admits she is still learning to speak.
“I sometimes fear people’s reactions to my truth, like they
might hurt me if I spoke up. Like that has already happened
to me.” A patchy lineage of life-givers, healers, burns and tears
in a sacred tapestry. We continue weaving, delivering ourselves
onward, teaching ourselves to nourish. To heal. To speak.