I am entering into a dreamy state of being where what is eternal is becoming very clear to me, and what is unnecessary drops away. The thinning of the veil. I am two or three or four weeks from giving birth and I can feel everything. I am neither anxious, nor worried, nor overwhelmed. Life is becoming very simple in these days of expectation, and I am one with it all.
Here in the valley it rains and the earth breathes again. I walked out of my door early yesterday morning and was met by that sweet wave that the rain gives off. I hadn’t smelled that for months, perhaps since last summer. Grassy and metallic at the same time, the air misty, cooling, soothing to the bones. I love the rain. I loved the snow too. I love the sun. Every day offers something different and I honor it all. The sound of the rain falling fatly on the hands of the evergreen bushes, the comforting drip drips from the roof. The warmth of my house. The peacefulness of being here in these days, just me and my baby safe within. One, but two.
I am needing of nothing. I am wanting of nothing. Except – yes, for the arms of my husband. When I stop to think about it, my eyes get hot again. We knew it would be like this – the excruciating split between out there and in here, the world and our home. The band sold out the Troubadour last night in Los Angeles, and yet after all that, Isaac writes to me yearning to be here. Of course this breaks my heart. We shed bittersweet tears on opposite sides of this country because we love each other so deeply, so purely, and we know why we have made these choices. There is no other way. This is our path.
People tell me I’m brave, that I’ve done so much ‘alone.’ I think I’ve completely let go of that story now, being alone. Good thing I have too, because the reality is otherwise. I am not alone, never. Since the beginning of the Chinese New Year at the end of January, I have seen signs of angels all around me. The number of times I’ve seen 11:11 or 1:11 on a clock astounds me. I have photos and screenshots of all the moments (often daily) that this mysterious and repetitious pattern emerges. In my heart, I know these are the signs of a benevolent spirit, reminding me that I’m not alone. I have never seen so many signs, not since before I met Isaac (more on that here) when perhaps the same guides and angels accompanied me.
During the last few days I have been making a playlist for our birth, making sure that we have all that we’ll need for our midwives, and painting the images I see in my mind around the birth. One, a flowering leafy garden unfolding from between my legs, carrying our son upon it. At the same time, my subconscious is purging. Last night I had an intense and violent dream, not scary, but punctuated with images I don’t normally fill my mind with. They are coming up from the depths to be released after I open the door with my paintings, I’m sure.
Yesterday I walked by the wilderness of the canal, the water so rich and still, the mud starting to warm up after the rains. There was no human around. Something in me said, sit. The leaves were damp and soft and it felt good to be on the earth again after so much snow. I crossed my legs and closed my eyes for several minutes. Almost immediately I could feel the connection I now have with all of nature, with all animals who give birth, with the females of this planet, the birds who lay eggs, the deer who offer fawns to that same mossy ground.
I am glad to be here amongst them all, powerful beings that they are. I gather my strength from them. (I heard a story this week about a tribal woman in Africa, who when asked about the pain of childbirth said “Pain? No, no pain. But I now know what it feels like for the Earth to give birth to a mountain.”)
Our baby wakes up when I wake up, responds to his father’s music, his father’s voice. We are in the dreamtime together, and it is a beautiful time of life. I cannot be sad that my beloved isn’t physically here yet. He arrives in nine days. He is so very present, and we have a connection that I know is very precious, yet incredibly resilient. The quiet time apart from each other brings a great surge of love, and many opportunities to be with what is, without changing it or pushing against it. I am grateful for these opportunities, because I am growing into the person I know myself to be in my heart. I am shedding layers, giving birth to myself as we prepare to greet this small dreaming angel, laying within.