On the Eve of Love

I’m taken by the spirit and I have to write. (oh if only I felt this way about my dissertation!!)

It’s a full moon, and I can actually feel myself ovulating for the first time since I got pregnant (also when I was ovulating!). I’ve always been able to feel it, especially since I’ve become so in tune with the earth and my cycles the last few years, and I’ve had periods back since Ro was 7 weeks old, despite fully breastfeeding with no longer than a few hours’ gap of his choosing. But this is the first time that I’ve *felt* the process in a long time, and I’ve missed it. The moon is bright and beautiful and full. And I am bright and beautiful and fertile. My son’s birthday eve – the eve of the most magical, soul expanding experience of my life – and I am ovulating. What a message from the Universe, what deep truth there is here. Layers and layers of metaphors. After a year of channelling Artemis, the strong lone Goddess, here I am in Aphroditic rapture. My first year of mothering is drawing to a close, and I am on the threshold of new love. Spring is here early, green shoots in the garden, bird song earlier and later respectively… and here I am in the Earth’s groove, ovulating away with it all, myself so ready to conceive of new life in so many ways – my business, my home, my spirituality. I’m having a love affair with myself, with no narcissism whatsoever. I’m selflessly giving every minute of every day and night, and rather than depleted, I am replenished. I am filled from the Universal cup, which overflows with Universal love. I know at a deep level that we are all one, we are one, we one, one, One. O. __

Nature abhors a void, and when I give of myself, I am filled up again.

From the street this house is an average mid-terrace.

From the inside it is a temple, a palace, a celebration of the Divine feminine, of all that I am and all that my sisters are. Pulsing with love, sparkling with light, it is alive, it is filled in every corner with Spirit, and it nourishes me to my very core. I have created this, I have created Rowan, I have created myself. From my womb I birthed my son, myself, and my future.

Ready for Rowan’s Naming Ceremony and Birthday party tomorrow, I have decorated - filled vases of spring daffodils, a luxe bouquet of deep red roses as a gift to myself; spread glitter and balloons and wooden floral bunting, wrapped presents, made food, created sacred space where we celebrate life. Blessed and nurtured and nurturing am I.   

Om shanti.

Stream of consciousness on healing

What on Earth is happening... first off lemme just say that I'm so high right now I could easily not make sense to anyone not on this plane. Im on the fucking ceiling. In fact, there is no ceiling. Only cosmos, and Im not of it, I AM it. If ya know what Im on about, you KNOW. I havent done any drugs, Im not drunk, Im simply blissed out on oxytocin love from my angel child, raising energy dancing and going into shamanic trance in my living room with Nag Champa and Dubs for company. Fucking bliss. Let me also just say right now that those who are judging, who are scared, who are evaluating their own self worth from my ramblings (consciously or otherwise)... please leave the building. There's only love here. There's only love in my life and THAT is because Im creating it.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. THIS, this is the feeling Ive been searching for my whole life, searching ever since my newborn mouth opened in instinctual anticipation of soft maternal breast, and instead being plugged with plastic and cow milk. The seaparation began long before that, but that's pretty much the biggest hole in my soul and one Ive tried for so long to fill. Since Ro was born, Ive been picking off the scab and having a poke around the wound there. Its pretty infested. Cleansed and cleansed again... got the shakes and gone slightly delerious from juice fasts and detoxing... colds, flu, anger, rage... none of this expressed to my mother, the perpetrator but yet also the victim. So much the victim, so evident in all that she does and is. How could I have started any other way, than separated? She is separated herself. I have strove to find the love for her, without mother love, what the hell are we? I know that without holding her in love, I cannot FULLY love myself, love my son, and I dont want to carry on this cycle. I dont want this separation to be passed down my ancestral line and yet I cannot be false and pretend to like her because I very often dont. I love her, in the om shanti, namaste, we are one way. BUT IT FEELS LIKE HARD WORK. and I never was a fan of that. I resolved to let it be... not try, but not antagonise, to roll with it. To sit and model love and rightness (NOT righteousness) in breastfeeding Rowan with no apology, no shame, no warning, no 'modesty', no discretion. Normal. It's normal. And let her concern, confusion and shamefacedness be. It is hers, it isnt mine. So, that open wound. The one Ive tried to stuff with substance(s!) for years on end. It doesnt help though, you cant just cram a hole full of matter and suddenly it's ok. It doesnt work that way. Lord, Ive tried. So recently Ive been airing it. Mulling it over. Rolling the concept round in my mouth, chewing it over, especially transitioning to raw Ive had a lot of insights regarding this. And my truth is, it's ok to feel pain. It's ok to still have a little child screaming in the dark inside me, for want of the maternal breast, for want of warm skin, for want of rightness. It's ok to have started off separate...because I am on a journey back home to myself.

Just let that marinate a minute.

I... thats me taking responsibility for having chosen this path.

am... all we have is the present.

on a journey... just what it says on the tin... believe in the process.

back... a RETURN. from whence I came.

HOME... oh home, oh home... where are you... you arent bricks, you arent a willy, you arent a pill.

to myself... cos this is who I chose to be. This is the body my spirit chose to incarnate in.


So let's take care of it and carry on floating higher and higher...

you can't make the journey back home, if you start off already there. You have to have been away first. If I started off at the breast, in the arms, in the high of oxytocin love, I wouldnt be spending my years (all 22.5 of them) winding my way back home, the scenic route. Every time I look back and think I wandered off the path (by societal norms' standards) I now realise I've learnt a FUCKING huge lesson about the true essence of who i am. All those times I was stoned and thought Id found bliss and all the answers (then couldnt remember them 10mins later and felt the loss alllllllll over again) just showed me that love does exist. It does, that feeling is available. Thats why I loved weed so much, it was the first time i ever felt held in warmth. Didnt ever realise it could come another way. Until I had my son, until I knew the warmth of a sentient being tapping me on the shoulder and saying,

hey, you, crazy fucked up lady, Im going to manifest in you now,

and me going, holy fuck son, are you sure? Im in the middle of a degree, which Im pretty much failing  by the way, and Im with a total tool whom I dont love, are you SURE?

 yes mum, the time is now. You will die otherwise.

 And me going... right then. Ok. come on down...

And Rowan was born.

And I knew love. And in that birth, in that 14.5hrs of bliss, of union with the Divine, of self love, of making love with the universe, of teetering on the edge and shouting YES YES YES I am alive, I see it, I know, I know, I love... I was healed. Out into the water popped the brightest being I ever beheld, and to my breast he went. Healing, healing, healing. Tears of joy, sobs of pure relief, the perfect rightness of it all, infused every cell of my body and every cell danced at our union and said YES YES YES. the Divine spirit moved through me and I danced, my heart danced, my body lay shaking and exhausted and thoroughly deserving of a cup of tea.

And in the circle of my arms, my angel fed. He fed me. He fed me cosmic wisdom. He fed me connection to the Divine that is everlasting. It did not fade when the intial nipple blisters did. Rowan fed me Truth, and the very least I can offer in return is breastmilk, which is after all his birthrite, and only normal.

This is the reality Im living in now. Cavewoman parenting heals my nursery-raped inner child. I strive every day to hold my mother in love, to offer gratitude when she pushes my buttons and mirrors for me how I can still heal. And, the higher I rise, the more she rises with me. She offers small kindnesses which surprise me. She advocates breastfeeding and gets irate at formula adverts. While my rational self is calling her a hypocrite, my Divine spirit weeps with joy.

Here, ladies and gentleman, in my rocking chair, with my mug of coconut water, I am finding my in arms phase. I am in arms of the Universe. The rhythmical movement and the lauric acid feeds me. The writing of this cleanses me. The fact that you are reading this and feeling emotion, heals me.

I am love.

And I haven’t even started talking about all the syncronicities which are manifesting on the physical plane. Oh, man.