Category Archives: Reflections

cunfessions of the mutha

I attended my first birth this morning at 4:30am.  Manuel and Maria Rojas had their little baby girl in Central City Hospital, they asked me to stay with them.  My whole body seemed to tingle when I realized they were serious.   Leaning back into that fluffy cloud of support all around me, “Allow the miracle to unfold,” I felt more then heard their support.  My angels and guides encouraged me to embrace the opportunity for growth.


Maria was having very regular contractions but she was so afraid. Tension rose from her shoulders, rolling the energy up into her face.  Her eyes widened and her breath unsteady, the rushes were unfamiliar to her.  She had no reference point to understand nor to trust the new experience.  She begged me for reassurance as the next one rose to greet her.


“Con calma.  Breathe mas larga,” my spanish was not really tolerable.  The time I spent in Mexico only made it worse.  I became more brazen, unabashed by my inability to conjugate to the correct subject or tense.  Most times I just used the infinitive.  I knew, my presence was enough.  I was holding the space and faith in this woman to birth.  The baby called to me to keep her mother strong.  The infant suspended in the darkness awaited her first breath.  She glowed rosy pink in my mind’s eye, I felt her resolve to enter the world with a bellow.


The dynamic between the couple would continue to unfold before me.  She blamed him for doing this to her, for causing her pain; changing her life.  She came to America to be independent and have her own life.  She was barely here a year when she became pregnant. The life of an independent American woman was slipping away from her.  She was repeating the legacy of generations before her even tough she moved thousands of miles to escape it.  Servitude and dedication to her family, without her identity as an individual, was everything she never wanted.  She was giving away her freedom and she knew no other way to define “mother.”


“So what,” he exclaimed, “She’s gonna get pregnant sooner or later.”  His bravado was transparent.  He shook with dread.   He was ill prepared for the unveiling of her anger as she ripped through him.  Her desperation shot out her eyes and dug into him.


How did I understand the depth of their relationship when our communication was so limited. Intuitively, I supported them in their transition into a family.  Without words as much as presence, I allowed her to reach out for him and demand submission to the power of the feminine.  I trust in the unknown and the universal wisdom that brought us together.  I knew this was going to be a huge experience for all of us.  I anticipated the gift, holding very still. This experience was an ornately wrapped present in my hand and loved every minute of the unwrapping.  Each gorgeous layer, perfectly reflecting the energy of the moment.  Emotions are raw and real. The delicious energy that I savor when the energy of the universe is so clear.


I am a doula.  I am a wise woman.  I am a mother.  Mostly, I am, me.  There is no other representation in the order of creation that comprises who I am.  It is my honor and my birth right but mostly it is in respect to the One that I have given myself permission to be uniquely myself.


I am, outwardly, a white, privileged American woman. I have northern European descendants from Germany to Hungary. My gypsy blood keeps me free and untethered by conventional boundaries.  Cornered and pressured, I am like a wild bear defending my territory.  There will not be another who holds sovereignty over me.  My power is my own.  Maria has the sweet, innocence of youth.  Her soulful eyes hold a strength of a culture deeply rooted in the earth.  Her hair braided into a thick, dark rope lays down her strong back.  There is a wisdom in her she has yet to uncover.  All they can see is her social status as an illegal Mexican immigrant on Medicaid. We made quite a pair.  I demanded respect in her name.


“An epidural would make it all better, why don’t you have one.”  The elderly room attended was uncomfortable with Maria’s deep, guttural sounds pouring from her.  She felt a rescue was in order.  There is a lesson in the pain.  With faith, the perception of pain will decrease and transforms into energy.  Birth gives women a new understanding of the flow that is life itself.  We understood this flow as a small child.  We are reintroduced to it again as mothers.


Since she was adding to Maria’s insecurity I asked her to stop offering as she will ask for it when she needs to.  Alas, it was too late. The discouragement had taken hold and the other staff members were chiming in.  The labor and delivery nurse took control of the situation.


“You must have a epidural to stop the pain,” she described in  spanish the bliss of the medication.  After the propaganda was complete, I requested that someone tell her the risk and effects to her baby postpartum.  They said there was none.  This is not true.


At this point, my presence was irritating them.  “Who are you?”


“Just a friend,” I stated which was true, because at the time I was not yet trained as a doula.  The obstetrician on staff became angry and started to yell at me in the hallway.  I realized at this moment what I was really doing here.  I stood my ground and demanded on her behalf an interpreter to explain the danger of the epidural regardless of their claim that there were no side effects.  They scrambled to get her the information that was her due.  I felt all the strength of a pack of wolves inside me as I walked back to join her in the room.


The most interesting thing happened at this point.  I returned to the room and felt the room fill with the presence of angels.  I was standing in the gateway between the worlds, holding the way open.  It was very clear to me that this child asked me to be her guardian.  I communicated with the angels and other guides  with my heart.   I knew from a deep place that all is as it should be.  I was completely dedicated to see this through regardless of the outcome.


Maria became unhinged.  The possibility of giving the pain away gave her permission to let it consume her until the relief came.  Manuel was grief stricken as she begged him to make it stop.  She pleaded in spanish, “por favor , mi amour, no mas…”   She only needed to have him understand the sacrifice she was making by bearing his child.  He could not honor the transformation.  He could bear her pleading no more. He looked to me for guidance.


I knew at this juncture, it was not for me to interfere but to help him find the strength to stand by her.  This was the turning point in the labor when the baby is close to its arrival.    I smiled and stood supportively behind him.


“Remind her to breathe.  For the baby, if not for herself.  Only inhale and exhale, that is all that is required.”


“But I can’t…” the tears welled in his eyes.

“Necessita va al bano?” I said.  The emotional tenor required a change.

“Que?” he wondered at the command.

“It will help,” I nodded encouragingly as the wise woman I am.


We got the help we needed to get her off the monitor to reach the bathroom.  I closed the door, “Keep her in there until they come.”


I am not sure what was the inspiration for this but I know the outcome was tremendous.  She was contracting strong and consistently and breathing well. I left them to manage themselves.  I sat in the rocking chair and prayed.  The angels were present and strong.  I became immersed in their energy.  I felt the love and support of the universe like a warm blanket.  I had no doubt that the experience was divinely executed. It is not to say that I knew the actual steps of the unfolding, only that I trust, wholly and completely that all happens for a reason.  We were jumping off a cliff into the unknown.  Free falling and unencumbered by the fear that surrounded us by the medical staff and their intellectualized concept of birth.  Birth resides in the heart, in the emotional body where things do not have to make sense.  Feeling our way, we proceeded.


“Where is she?” The labor and delivery nurse returned with a flourish.


I was deeply cloaked in the energy that resides between the worlds.  It took an effort to open my heavy eyelids and  answer her, “In the bathroom.” I nodded towards the door.


The rest of her entourage pursued behind her, barging into the bathroom with all the urgency of a steam engine.  Maria’s cocoon was disrupted.  They physically removed her, shouting the whole time about having the baby in the toilet.  It was unreal the aggression they displayed toward her.  The violation and disrespect ensued.  I continued to channel whatever love the universe would muster to embrace her and her baby.  The baby was here.  She was crowning.  There was no time to administer the epidural. Victory is so sweet.  I beamed from my place in the rocking chair, slowly gliding back and forth.


Maria pushed the baby into the world within a half an hour.  What a gloriously strong woman!  I stood by the sweet infant as they insisted on having their way with the baby as they had no further influence on the mother.  I just spoke to her in gentle tones as they would not let me do much else.  At the sound of my voice, she calmed and focused.  The peace from her coursed through me.  I knew it was for her I was called to be here.


Cunfessions of the Mutha

There is incredible magic available right here, right now.  We are all gifted, special and unique.  When the sunsets and the violet-blues and fuchsia pink set you in awe, you are one and the same, elementally.  The mission, if you choose to accept it, (insert the music of the movie Mission Impossible) is to make it your focus in your life to find out what you are all about.  What magic have been borne with?  Can you allow the expression of all that you are or do you squash yourself down because you have been taught otherwise?


It was killing me.  My life, my choices.  The weight insulated the true expression of me until it hurt.  The weight on my chest made it hard to breathe.  I had no idea how I even got here.  I was doing all the “right” things.  I was following an ideal of my personal truth as far as I believed it could be expressed. I put myself on a railroad track with no adjoining course.  The cavernous guilt bore a whole through me, a so I ate.  I cooked elaborate meals and ate. I poured my love, my heart, into my food.  Soon that was getting to be a burden as well.


So I made skincare.  I couldn’t eat that.  I created beautiful products for my family and my friends.  I was reaching, searching for me.  Still, I was engulfed with the solitude of my existence. I hoped the creativity would lead me to the magic.  My heart yearned for a connection to something bigger.  Somedays I got close, when I woke with a dream about a new recipe, I would run downstairs to start the fire and let things come together as the dream inspired me to do.  It was a brush with the creative force of the universe, but really, only a brush.  A water color streak in the blank canvas of my life.  When I was not creating, could barely function doing the mundane.  I did not understand why my life had, seemingly all-of-the-sudden turned on me.  The simple joys of my family were no longer.


I was horrified to realize I could not enjoy my children like I used to.  I became impatient.    Endless hours of playing with dolls or Legos was a thing of the past.  I no longer put my energy into exploring their world.  I let them do their world.  I knew they would do well to explore without the despondency I carried.   They did as children do, continue on, finding their way, fearlessly.


The loneliness engulfed me.  I was suffocating.  A cloud of dense fog surrounded my senses making it difficult to even decipher how I felt.  My children reached out to me through the fog and I would resurface momentarily, until my eldest daughter became depressed.  I could not help her and I knew that it was because I could not get my shit together.  She was reaching puberty.  A time when the young woman needs a strong example to emulate. I really looked at myself and recoiled as I was not the woman I wanted to be, nor was I the woman she needed me to be to make this transition.


My whole being searched for something, anything to tell me the truth.  “Give me something to believe in again!”  my heart screamed out in desperation. I had glimpses of my effervescent childhood, full of joy and imagination. It haunted me.  Could I still be that same joyous being?  God held me in his embrace.  As a young bubbly girl, the security of His Love freed me from the worries of humanity.  Light and love poured from my eyes into the hearts of those around me. It effortlessly poured out of me.  In the complete acceptance of myself, I embraced all.


In that absolutely clear place of loving my daughter more that myself, I was lead to further my quest.  Watching her lie on the couch day after day, was all I could bare.  I felt her despair, her utter loneliness.  She, with an open and generous heart, tried to live here amongst all the pain and jealousy, mistrust and betrayal.   Her relationships began to fail her.  Her friends betrayed her trust, her parents distrusted her experience.  I could not show her it was worth it to continue, that there was a more glorious expression of life than the one I was portraying. She looked at me, she witnessed my pain and loneliness as I served and nurtured everyone around me, taking no heed to the calling of my soul.  A mother cannot hide from her children, nor them from me.  We have made the commitment to be partners this lifetime and I am eternally grateful.  They inspire me to remain in the flow of love so that they can remember they are never alone.


It is for them that I dug into those ugly dark places in my soul and worked so diligently to  recreate my life.  These memoirs are the events that lead me here. It is a surreal recount of the inner workings of my soul, unravelling.  The intimate whisperings of my heart are raw and unedited.  The journey is fierce and treacherous effuse with craggy outcroppings of unresolved pain.  As in the hearts of all who were born here, we hold untold misery and deceit from lifetimes of abuse.  At birth into these bodies, the abandonment from Source commences.  The ego manages to take the place of Source.   Acquiring financial stability, material items, or a plethora of degrees cry out for fulfillment and satiation.  Yet the insecurity remains like a child that is criticized by our parents, we bend over and work harder towards a fictitious end.  The criticism stems our own thoughts planted there by institutions and society mores that create fear and enforce the  separation we start to feel at birth.

Fly Away with Me

As a small child, I knew how to fly. No really, all you have to do is fill your heart with joy. Kind of like Peter Pan. There were always hordes of people running after me to share the joy and freedom. I wondered why they could not fill up with joy and fly too. I would be jumping from street lamp to street lamp, loving the weightlessness of my body, barely touching down at the next lamp with just enough touch to fly again. If I stood still on top of the lamppost, the people would begin climbing the poll to reach me. I did not want to stop feeling so free, so I willed myself to fill even more and fly. Concentration is essential. I would begin descending if I let them distract me. The people would cheer as I lost altitude. I soared all night, gently lighting down just before waking.

My mother would not interpret the dreams for me, maybe because she couldn’t bring herself to explain the complexity of the world to a five year old. She avoided complexity for herself too. I get it now.

I come with a full heart and fill your heart with my consciousness.  Know and believe I am here expressing myself in your love.  Embrace others with this love and all barriers fall away, including your own self-limiting ones.  Ha-haa, Little One, there is nothing beyond your reach, just remember to reach one step farther than your dream.  Feel the pulse and warmth of your God-self.  Invite this feeling often to overcome self-limiting doubt.  Your fellow humans look for an example of this consciousness to know it is possible.  Even if there is but a glimpse, a glimpse of the Light is enough to inspire the hopeless.  Be the Light, Hold the Light, Shine Bright! Channelled message from Jesus, 8/2011