Another from my pregnancy journal. A mindfulness meditation, of sorts, turned delight at the effect my pregnant body may or may not have on people 😉
April 19th, 2015
Yesterday I watched the geese fly North for the Summer
They soared in circles above our heads, eyeing ponds to land in before setting off on their long journey
Today I listened to pollinators visiting flowers and bringing with them the happiest of buzzing sounds
Today I meditated on my porch, soaking in the last minutes of sunshine
I opened my eyes just in time to witness the last rays of warmth glistening along the tops of the ponderosas before the sun gave its final wink and disappeared behind the mountain
Today I witnessed the intensity of the green shooting out of every leaf, blade of grass, and flower stem
I can almost hear it, its so vibrant
Today I practiced yoga next to a glistening blue lake, listening to the wind and birds, and the gentle whistle of the breeze rushing through the grass
I smiled when two young girls came by while I was in Vrkasana, offering an example of ability, strength and calm, hoping that such a visual would have a positive effect on their sense of femininity
Today, an entire grocery store full of people marveled at how robust and ripe with life I am
They hardly believed I wasn’t 90 weeks pregnant and actively giving birth in the checkout line
Oh, those poor, terrified old men
Listening to the whispers in the breeze and the stories rushing past my cold and happy river feet
I am awakening
My root has caught the eternal fire in my heart
I am grounded and alive
The winds of change blow all around me and I laugh as their possibilities play with my hair
I am free; to choose, to gaze, to walk, to wonder
Sown seeds have taken root beneath me and wherever I go, I am connected
Deep down, within, I know.
I’ve come to know that the promising land I’ve called home for years is one that I must now leave behind.
This land captivated me with its lushness, brilliance and expansive flowery meadows. While this land once was full of blooms, it has been in drought for some time. The promise of another Spring has led me to keep planting seeds of hope, and yet, I know I must leave this place and find a new meadow. In spite of occasional new sprouts, they are not enough to sustain.
This dying place is surrounded by frozen tundra, and while I believe I will make it through to lush springs once again, more beautiful and fertile than I’ve ever known, I have been paralyzed by my fear of this frozen wasteland that I must cross. Alone. No safety net. Tending my own fires. Facing new dangers and debts with my child on my hip.
But if I stay in this drought-stricken land, I will surely perish with optimism wavering.
I am strong. I am supported. I am aligned. I trust in the Universe.
And so I set off for unknown lands with a heart full of courage and my feet pointing forward.
I wrote this in my journal back in February while watching a massive amount of snow fall. It had all just melted the day before, leaving us hopeful that the brutal Winter might finally be letting up, all to dump feet of snow just as the last bit of old snow was sliding off rooftops and revealing cars that had been buried for weeks (mine included).
Mother Winter, you are merciless in your persistence
If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were cold
Just when we are sick of the dirty slush that hints at your surrender to Spring, you shower us with fluffy, serene snowflakes, the same romantic kind we were praying for two months ago at Christmas
It’s funny, when everything is buried under snow, it’s hard to remember what the town looks like without it all
Then, when it melts, it feels hard to believe that you are seeing things which were once invisible
When the Winter is long and melts are brief, watching everything become enveloped with white again feels so satisfying, so familiar
As if we couldn’t put our finger on what was needed to finish off the canvas, and then you waltzed in with the breeze and offered the perfect finishing touch, suddenly revealing a masterpiece