The Mother

An older, wiser woman once told me that labour was just the work you have to do,

A job to let the baby out,

Breath by breath,

All thoughts and ideas; who I am,

Are pushed aside by bodily urges,

Surges, the power within, all my creation,

I am equal to this, my own power,

Convincing of the oneness of creation,

This act,

Takes me to the brink of the abyss,

And I jump,

And fly, and soar and fall through fear and love made the same by pain,

All our spiritual journeys, Gurus, Gods, Oms and incense,

Pale beside the transcendence of life emerging,

Another older wiser woman—it's funny how women end up like that—older and wiser,

Motherhood's many lessons, leaving us gifts for future generations,

This wonderful older, wiser woman said:

Remember you are having a baby not a birth,

Allowing Grace and celestial bodies to guide the journey,

The baby is born, but so is the mother.