"Aidan Cathedral", Peter Berry 2004, Digitally Transformed Photograph

The word “rebirthing” has been in my psyche quite a bit of late; perhaps in part due to the immanence of spring (around the corner, I hope!)    Perhaps in part due to the “collective sloughing off” that’s going on for so many people, in our country and beyond.  And perhaps in part due to the changes I have seen in my own life.

It is a hard thing to describe in quantifiable terms when deep internal change is happening.  It’s like trying to put words on a moving, invisible target made of mist.  The way I know change is happening is that I can feel it.  Of course, I see behavior changes, but that is after the changes are integrated.  The first way I know they are happening is that I can feel motion inside.

I’m not alone.  I’ve been talking to some kick-ass women, women who don’t always have words for what they are experiencing, either, but trust themselves enough to know that something is going on, something big and good and life changing.  They sometimes think they are alone, and they experience such relief when they realize that they aren’t. 

These are the women I want to surround myself with in my life.  These are women who are strong, have been through some things, have survived hardship, or pulled themselves up by their bootstraps when no one else would give them a hand.  These women are feeling something inside of them, too, something that is calling them home.  And they are choosing to listen.

Rebirth is a term that seems perfect for what is going on for me right now.  I feel myself returning to a more childlike remembrance of my soul.   I am having body memories of what it felt like to be me before I learned how to cover up my light.  I am remembering certain qualities of myself that I’ve not really touched in some time.  The experience is like, “Oh, yeah, I used to feel that feeling when I was little.”  It brings tears to my eyes sometimes!

When I think about it from a pattern perspective (I’m always seeing patterns), I’d have to say that my core self is re-emerging after trying on a suit for some years.  The suit worked well for awhile, even though it was uncomfortable at times.  But now, I am done with that particular suit, and I want to try on one that is a better fit for me.  A roomy, silky, blue and green, flowing suit.

I feel some fear and anxiety at times because I don’t quite know what is around the corner.  But at the same time, I feel an anticipation, an eagerness…like the joy I felt at special times when I was a younger person.  Like the whole world is my playground.  I can’t wait!

Rebirth.  Re-emerge.  New/Old identity.  Who am I becoming?  I think it’s more ME.

Untitled Female Figure, Licia Berry, 1988, ink wash

It’s really true what they say, that if we are not aware of history we are doomed to repeat it.  We can see it on our world stage, we can see it in our relationships, and we can see it in how we become our parents if we have not done a significant amount of consciousness work.

Having internalized my father as the more positive role model of my two parents (if you know anything about my history with my father that may be jaw dropping to you!), I sought my way in the world with a dominant immature masculine energy as my primary lead.  I worked hard, I forced and pushed, I didn’t let myself feel much, I succeeded when I should have totally failed or died.  It was survival of the fittest; there was no room for getting soft or taking a breath or self care or soul care…none of that pansy stuff. 

That served me well enough to get through 5 years of full-time university and student teaching, all while making good grades and working enough jobs to pay the rent.  I had no help from my family and was living on my own in downtown Atlanta, a young girl with nothing to her name but a hand-me-down station wagon that stalled while driving and a scrappy attitude.

When I met my future husband, my survival was more assured.  He took me out to eat and I tore up a steak, threatening to spear his hand when he reached for something on my plate.  I had not eaten properly in 2 years, making due with one box of macaroni to last me a week, and mooching off of my wealthy roommate when she would let me.  Mostly I got through by just not allowing myself to think about food.  Keep moving, keep moving.  Besides, I was getting calories from the alcohol that folks would buy me at the dance club.     

It took some time to start to calm the wild beast who was fighting to survive within me.  Being in close proximity to Peter’s family (mine had been mostly out of the picture since I left home) induced a deep depression; those feelings I had been too resistant to give air time to finally had some room to come up to the surface.  I became a very uncomfortable FEELING creature.  I started therapy to learn why I was feeling the way I was, and began the long slow climb into consciousness and the light.    

The year that I was pregnant with my first son was when I began to consciously feel female.  I had been tough and together and sharp minded, but now I felt softer, squishier, joyful, less concerned with working hard to survive and more concerned with the baby growing inside of me.  I took wonderful care of my body, learned about organic foods and alternative ways of thinking.  This was when I started to see my inner nurturer come to the surface.  Somehow I knew how to treat myself as more precious.  This was such a great gift; it was truly the first time I can remember feeling feminine in an authentically powerful way.

My second pregnancy drew me ever more into the feminine, but the wild, deep, dark feminine.  I craved tribal music and walked in the woods and the mud.  I talked to the trees and the wind and the earth, feeling the eyes of nature on me as I moved through the world.  I carried sticks and rocks as talismans, weighing down my pockets with precious bits of ground that seemed to want to walk with me.  It was as if I were a child again, but a powerful, pregnant woman-child, innocent and knowing at the same time.  I found myself drawn to women in Asheville who taught me about birth being a natural process that my body knew how to do.  It was the beginning of learning to trust myself and my body as way-showers.

It was during this time I first heard the word Goddess, at least consciously.  I didn’t like it much; “Goddess” evoked images of hippie women in long skirts with wild hair and flowers in their teeth.  It evoked witches and feminists and crazed, alternative thinkers.  Even though I was coming into my feminine self in a powerful way, I was way too practical (read fearful) to embrace the “goddess”.  I experienced the Divine as something more abstract, a combination of feelings and love and creation and evolution.  I wasn’t going to worship anything.  I didn’t believe in a dude in the sky as my god, why would I believe in a woman in a skirt as my goddess? 

But my feet were firmly on the path of embracing Her, whether I saw her as a figurehead or not.  My internal knowing was taking me deep into Her, and what I discovered was that She was inside of me, in my body and heart and belly.  She wasn’t outside, wanting to be worshiped.  She was part of me. 

(to be continued)

Jess in SLO 11-2008

Today my first born turns 16. 

 I naturally ruminate on the events that led up to this day, the anniversary of his birth.  It was a hard day that revealed a lot about both of our most basic traits.

 My pregnancy was flawless…I LOVED being pregnant.  I felt powerful and sexy, the embodiment of Great Mother.  I had none of the issues that many pregnant women do, as if my body was doing what it did best.  As if I was built to make babies (if you saw my hips you would agree!)

I fretted about what to name this baby boy that was coming down the pike.  We discussed some names, but I wanted to be sure to pick the “right one”. 

One night I had a dream that I was with a grown boy, maybe about the age Jess is now.  He was sitting at a white kitchen table in a white kitchen, and I was standing and talking with him.  He looked exactly like Jess does now, with the exception of having very blue eyes instead of the green eyes Jess actually does have.  In the dream, I asked him about his names.  Do you like this one, do you like that one?  He would shake his head at each choice.  When I finally asked if he liked the name “Jess”, he shrugged, and I took that to mean it was the best of the choices we’d presented.  I woke up knowing his name.

As I got closer and closer to Jess’ due date, I wondered how I would get this giant child out of my body.  He was a big baby (I seem to grow big babies); at almost 10 pounds, my doctor was concerned that we would have to go the C-section route if he didn’t hurry it along.  I didn’t know any better, not having given birth before, and not having any mothering influences around to remind me to trust my body’s knowing.

As the due date came and went, I puzzled over why this baby wasn’t coming.  Was it up to the baby to decide?  Was it up to my body?  Was it a dance between the baby, my body, and something larger that made the decision as to his arrival? 

 My doctor gave me an ultimatum.  We would wait no longer than two weeks after the due date, or risk having surgery to bring Jess into the world.  We scheduled a date “just in case”.  I asked a woman I worked with about how to choose a date, and she told me that more animals are born before a full moon than after, so I chose to schedule his birth the night before the full moon.  Those two weeks I prayed a lot.  Please come, Jess.  Let him go, body.  But to no avail.

The morning of his scheduled birth, I was so scared and sad.  Scared because I had no idea what to expect and sad because I felt my body had somehow betrayed me.  It hadn’t allowed the birth process to happen as it was supposed to.  My body wasn’t letting this child go…it wasn’t releasing him into the world.  That was a big clue for me much later in my life about my core emotional wound…the world is not safe.

The birth itself was long and hard.  Pitocin to rush things along, and an epidural to keep me from losing my mind during the birth of an almost 10 pound baby.  I have since learned an immense amount about the often unnecessary “medical menu” experience; my second son was born at home in the water with a midwife.  But that’s another story.   After labor pains of 9 hours or so, I pushed for 2 hours, lost a lot of blood, and Peter thought both I and Jess were going to die.  I felt as if there were two of me; the one that wanted this baby out of my body and the one that was hanging on to him as if life depended on it.

Eventually, the me that wanted him out won by a slight margin.  I remember the moment; the doctor said Jess was in distress…this remarkable baby had been moving his head in an effort to help the move down the birth canal, but he was weakening.  He was stuck and losing strength.  I had been bleeding and pushing for 2 hours, exhausted and freaked out because I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.  The room was filling up with varied medical professionals, and a room for surgery had been prepared.  I thought I couldn’t do any more.  But when I heard her making noises that intimated that he may not make it, something bigger than the me that wanted to keep him safely in my body took over, and I pushed with a strength that came from Source itself.  I was no longer in the room; I was the big bang.  Suddenly I exploded and gave birth to the universe.  And Jess was born.   

He was blue and limp, needing oxygen for a couple of minutes.  His poor little head was shaped like a cone from being in between my pelvic bones for so long.  But he lived. Thank god for his determination.

My body was torn to shreds physically; the inner conflict I’d experienced left me exhausted and ripped open emotionally.  My most basic fear had been exposed, the scab of an old, but very alive wound, ripped right off.  The pulsating well of grief and fear within that was subsequently exposed took me down a rabbit hole of two years of post partum depression, and the re-emergence of my spirit back into my life.  And healing.

So, in a very real way, this beautiful boy who turns 16 today saved my life.  He is a teacher to me every day; wise beyond his years and with seeming nerves of steel, he has a tender heart and genuine caring for all humanity.  When he decides to do something, he does it with mastery.  I am amazed sometimes at the ease with which he moves through the world.

But it was his entrance into the world through my body that taught me one of my most precious lessons. No matter what our fears and doubts, no matter what wounds may seize us up and make us try to prevent flow, life wins.

Do you ever get the sense something big is about to happen?  Sort of a building of energy feeling, like gears are turning…but not turning just to turn….turning because it will lead to something.

I have had this feeling today that is similar to the way I felt before I went into labor with my boys.  I noticed when I awoke spontaneously at 5 a.m. that I felt funny, very internal.  An eerie quiet, while something moved deep inside.  As if I was a very still, black lake with an ancient sea creature traversing its muddy bottom.  It is a difficult feeling to describe in words, but I can safely say ”pre-labor” is no ordinary feeling. 

As the morning progressed, I noticed I did something very bold that I have been trying to do for 5 years (I printed out some of the stories I will be publishing in my next book).  I just up and did it!  No talking myself into it, no wringing my hands, no over-analyzing.  Just pulled up 50 pages worth of my heart and printed them out on paper.

You might wonder why this is so significant.  It doesn’t seem like a big deal at all!  But it IS.

I realized today that I have safely secreted away my deepest revelations in my trusty computer (and what I didn’t, I trusted to put in my journals), but never brought them into physical form by printing them.  I kept them nice and safe in the etheric realm of my electronic gadgetry, where I could not show them to anybody.  Or publish them.

You know me, I’m a pretty intense person and a deep thinker.  I figure that I have at least 8000 pieces of writing that I “intend” to put into books stashed on my computer.  I seem to be a collector of my thoughts, and if I write them, I tell myself I doing what needs to be done.  But I am starting to see that there is another half of the equation. 

The other half is putting it out there for folks to read.  My big AHA this week has been that I actually feel that if I don’t DO anything with my writing (except offer it for free on my blog, websites, FaceBook, famous emails, articles published worldwide in several languages, etc.), then no one can criticize me for what I have written.  And certainly I won’t be a failure for not making a living being a writer.  No, if I just keep all my most fabulous work secreted away on my computer, I don’t have to take the risk of playing big.

Well, all that is getting challenged this week.  Between healing my inner masculine (my “DOING” side), revealing my beliefs about my relationship with money in my coaching group, and having the realization that I avoid DOING in order to avoid failing, there is a whole lotta shaken goin’ on. 

I actually sent an introduction piece out to a trusted friend with whom I will begin a writer’s group….she gasped into the phone, “I want to read the book.  NOW.”  Oh boy.  She wants the book NOW. 

I feel intuitively that the fire that is under me about publishing my writing is a good thing.  I feel I am being prodded by the universe (in the most supportive of ways) to get off my arse and TELL MY STORY.  I did always plan to do it, but somehow the years have ticked off and I never, well, got around to it.  I’ve been BUSY!  (ahem)

In my inner guidance this morning, I received the words, “What will it take to put your Self first?”  I can think of so many things to do that are in service to my children and family and home and hearth….as well as things that are not of service to anyone such as playing a computer game (she admits sheepishly).  But to REALLY live my life as it was intended to be lived, that is a different kind of priority.  It will require a shuffling of priorities, a greater discipline, and a very deep devotion to my truest Self to allow that life to be expressed.

I think that is what is shifting.  I think this is what’s happening in my life right now.  I’m choosing to trust that this pre-labor I feel so intently right now is going to take me into a labor of love, one that will birth the me that has been waiting to emerge.  

Spring Forth, 2001 by Amy Paloranta

I remember it so clearly….when I was 8 months pregnant with my first baby, I thought I surely could not get any bigger.  But it was not time yet, so I waited.  When I was 9 months pregnant with Jess, I thought I would pop and pondered how this watermelon-sized kid was going to make it to the outside world.  Then, overdue by two weeks and carrying an almost 10 pound baby in my belly, I was in despair because I would have to be induced.

My then-doctor gave me grave news; if I were to allow the baby to go any more than two weeks after the due date, I would most likely wind up with a cesarian.  I didn’t want that, so we scheduled Jess’ birth for January 26th.  I remember awakening early that morning and showering, feeling in an altered state and as if I were preparing myself for some ritual sacrifice.  I was so scared, having never been through the birth thing before, and having no mother there to lead me through with grace and wisdom.

Jess’ birth was hard, very hard.  After almost 12 hours of labor, we came through a bloody initation; it wound up being a medical menu experience that disempowered me and left me broken.  Thank goodness Jess made it through. 

The second time, I was going to have it very differently.  When I was pregnant with Aidan, I sought out a midwife and chose to have the birth at home in the water.  My body sought out tribal music and walking barefoot on the mud.  I heard the voices of spirits on the wind and spoke with the swaying trees.  The parts of my soul that had been fragmented by my prior birth experience were calling to come back home.  Aidan’s birth was shaping up to be an experience of healing, of coming back together, of integration.    

But when Aidan’s due date also came and went, and I was sure I could not get any bigger, I panicked.  This baby was almost 10 pounds, too, and my midwife felt cautious about letting me go too far beyond his due date because of the traumatic birth we went through before.  She talked with us about options, each a progressive level more invasive.  She wanted to ensure success, but she also wanted to honor my soul healing process.  She told me not to worry and to wait a little longer.

I remember one day as I waddled around the house; Jess was napping, and I had a few moments to myself.  I sat down in a rocking chair and felt my worry consume me.  What was wrong with my body that it couldn’t let go of my babies on time?  Why was my body reluctant to release these children into the world?  Couldn’t I trust myself?  What did this all mean?

I found myself rocking gently, and started to cry.  As I breathed and allowed each tear to drop, I found myself repeating a quiet mantra, “Let go”.  I felt a wave of worry rise up to the surface, crest, and then flow out of me, and I came to rest inside.  When the next wave of powerlessness and anxiety came to the surface, I cried and repeated “Let go”.  I went through this cycle at least 4 or 5 times.  As I softly rocked and wept, I released my fear, over and over.

It wasn’t easy, but it helped me come to peace about how it wasn’t going to be the way I wanted it to be.  Aidan was not coming on the timeline that my mind desired.  I would have to let go and trust a larger logic.

Aidan came two weeks after he was due, too, with a little help from my midwife.  We wound up doing a cervical sweep, a gentle use of her hand in the mouth of the cervix to break the web-like strands and give the cervix the message that dilation was to begin, the least invasive of the helping methods she could offer.  I went into a picture perfect labor and was allowed to experience birth the way millions of women have before me, without medical intervention.  Aidan was born after only 4 hours of labor.  It was a magical and healing experience.

I am thinking about this now because I am having a similar feeling these days of being overdue and so ripe for the picking……but no birth yet.  It is odd to feel these feelings so acutely when I have no baby in my belly to explain away my feelings!  It is more of an inner birth, a soul birth perhaps, that is unfolding inside me.  The birth of a new life?  Yes, that’s it.  The vision I have been holding so close to my heart for many years is about to come to fruition, and it is almost time…..almost.

I have spoken with many people who feel so ready for a new life to be birthed; some of us have been working on ourselves for years in anticipation of the coming age.  Healing our old traumas, releasing past wounds, learning about and expanding our consciousness.  We feel SO ready for this birth.  But it has not been quite time yet….until now.

I felt something in the last couple of days, something akin to the cervical sweep that my midwife performed to aid my body in letting go of my second baby.  A larger, universal wave of assistance perhaps.  And now I feel as though the last stages of a very long labor are about to begin.

It has been three weeks since my last confession….I mean BLOG entry….and I can’t believe it has been so long since I posted anything!  it certainly isn’t because there has been a shortage of happenings with us Berries in the Berry Patch!

We left Monterey after Thanksgiving and camped back in San Luis Obispo, which we have decided is our new homeplace.  We just love it in SLO…the energy there is a GREAT match for us and where we want to go in our lives.  We are so very grateful to have found our new location, and so easily and quickly!  Now we have the task of manifesting actually living here!

We considered traveling around some more, but none of us want to, so we are stationed in SLO for the forseeable future.  We are looking for a long-ish term solution to camp in the RV, perhaps a spot of private land someone would rent to us where we can plug in and live until we sell the Colorado properties and/or manifest other miracles!  If you know of a possible solution or have a creative idea, please be in touch!

Today we are celebrating Solstice (Winter in this hemisphere).  We find the Solstice to be much more where our hearts resonate during the whole holiday hoopla.  For me, it is because the Solstice is not a man-made event chosen on some arbitrary day, but a celestial one, one that is way beyond our control as human beings to mis-interpret or twist to our agenda.  It is very simple….it is the end of the long dark and the coming of the light.  Good reason to celebrate in my view!       

I have felt since the election that we have all been very tired….bone tired, in fact, as though lots of us have been in labor pains for many, many years, and that we finally succeeded in birthing this new era, symbolized by the election of Obama.  I am weary from the effort, me thinks!  But this is just the beginning…this baby is brand new and it will take a firm, wise and compassionate hand to raise it!

It feels so perfect to me that the Winter Solstice is following so closely after the election….I think of Solstice as a wonderful time to reflect on what I have learned in the last year, and to thank the Whole of Creation for all that it has brought to me…..and then to dream about the new cycle that is coming, the fresh year ahead.  What do I desire?  What are the next steps in my growth and understanding?  How can I be the best Divine Human that I can be and be of service to the Whole?   What is so very dear to my heart?  These are all wonderful things to reflect on this day.

And tomorrow, we will have our version of the gift giving that occurs in other holidays…the day after Solstice feels like a day of abundance and celebration to me, an ushering in of the new energy that we are choosing to align ourselves with.

May you have a peaceful and fulfilling Solstice, and blessings to you and yours!

xoxoxo

Licia and da Berry Boys