There is this plant...

There is this plant,
poisonous fruit it puts in front of me
to consume me into a rant.
However, I will not bring it into me.
I will not sit with it unwell in my belly.

The poison has purpose apparently,
not a valor purpose indeed.
Its purpose weighing down my flesh,
spreading the fatigue.
I sit unwell with it in my belly,
not because I consumed it,
but because the fact that people I love will consume it,
this sits unwell with me.

I wish I can destroy all the poison
before it spreads its false spirit into the wrong ears.
People listen too much to non-reason
and not enough to what is here!
What is here, what is here?

Here is where all sorts of plants can grow,
its where all plants have grown.
Some plants have grown blankets when I am cold,
others still have grown hands to wipe away the tears I sow.
I know there are better plants to eat,
there are better plants that I’ve reaped,
but still this plant with poisonous fruit that shows
sits unwell in belly and makes me slow.

Beginnings of Novel

Solitude seemed to engrave the memory further into my open mind as I lie in the sweetly comforting bed. It all seemed like it was a cataclysmic eruption of grape soda on a white t-shirt; the cactus leaf, the tawny color of the desert, and the unforgettable skies that still seemed to plague my heart with a constant yearning for its brisk wind. I could hardly wait for her arrival, this woman, her face a secret to my eyes. She promised me a visit if I were to return to my homelands and the owl late last night whispered in my dreams of her visit to me this afternoon.

Alianza was a crazy character for even the most radical of eyes. She wore a black bandana across her face which matched her two black braids. Her dress shirt was ruffled with the anxiety and passion that she too stimulated from within herself. The bright colors from her skirt pounced out, even with the layer of dust and age, so that you could think of nothing else but a good memory and strength. She became irrepressible and forever remembered as soon as she walked into your presence. Alianza promised that when she died, her body would become a visible bridge to even those who didn’t believe.   

I first met her at the bottom of the cactus leaf and she became my comrade within an instant of her speech. Everything starts and ends with Alianza, but she is neither at the end or beginning of my story. She is my infinite uniting force with the two worlds that perplexed my spirit before the introduction of the city of the gods. She was and is in everything that makes the story what it is.

The morning before I met her, my mother woke me up in accordance with the schedule of Sunday mass. My mother agreed to blue jeans, as long as I wore the nice shirt she bought me from the little Mexican store. The shirt made me look like I was just showcased in one of those Mexican festivals. Mass was as dull as the carpet in an airport terminal, but the stain glass figures of the saints seemed to amuse me enough. Before I knew it we were saying “peace be with you” to our neighbors and waiting to take the bread and wine. Like an unwanted remembrance of a bad memory, I started to think about fried bacon, juicy eggs and toast. Mom always made me wait until after mass for breakfast, I was even denied a cup of coffee. After receiving the bread, I knelt on the old cushioned bench and said an “Our Father” and asked God to bless me with the gift of time travel so that I could fast forward to me sitting in front a large plate of food. I’m glad my mother wasn’t like the other busy-body mothers that had to talk for hours after mass, she was glad to go home and relax as well.

As soon as we entered the humble doorway of my little blue house on top of the hill my mother sent me down the hill with the garbage in hand. As I left out the door I last remember her lifting the pots from the cupboards for the bacon and eggs. I was glad to keep myself out of the house and occupied while she cooked because the smell of bacon cooking would only drive me crazy for its finish. The driveway was steep so I had to walk down very carefully. Concentrating heavily on not falling and my hungry stomach, I failed to notice the large strange object hidden in the dark leaves of our avocado tree. The avocado tree was old, its leaves were large and its avocados were my mom’s favorite snack. The sound of a big bird started to circle the skies, and I stopped to engage in a little bird watching. At first I thought I heard it from the East, and then it sounded from the South and then uniformly cried from both the West and North. I thought maybe there was a whole flock of birds nearby, then a solid cry from the avocado tree sounded. I looked over but the leaves had herded so thickly on the branches I could not make out a figure at all. I hurried down to the garbage can and dumped the bag inside the can, forgetting of course to lock the top back down. I ran to the bottom of the tree to see if I could see a bird and as I grew nearer, the edges of a large nest came into sight. I stopped for a minute surprised by the enormity of the edges of the nest and marveled at the large object that had not been there before. I drew myself closer to the tree, until I was at the bottom of the trunk. My eyes widened so much that I thought my eyeballs might fall out, good thing I was looking upward. The entire inside branches of the tree had been hollowed out, the branches made a perfect circle around the large eagle nest. The Eagle had taken notice to my presence and we looked at each other sharing a moment of curiosity in each other. The eagle had dark shimmering brown feathers that extended over the nest’s edge, the white feathers and large yellow beak at its head was stunning. I had never seen nor read of an Eagle being so large before. I turned to get my mother; however the Eagle taking notice to my escape drew up its gorgeous wings, freezing me into a state of awe. I backed away from the tree slowly but it was too late; the Eagle danced forward claiming to seize me with its claws. Grasping gently upon my little arms I became captive to its large clawed feet as it lifted me into the air. 

The excitement curiously out-weighed my anxiety and fear as my little blue house on top of the hill became a tiny dot in the ground. Rain clouds filled the air, pursuing at a rapid pace towards us, ultimately to embellish us within them. The grey fog and little sunlight gave me only enough to make out the bodies of the Eagle and I. As soon as the reality of the situation started to become apparent I found myself fretful, shaking passionately, the Eagle feeling this began to sing. Even though I knew that this could not be right, I lost myself in the song for a moment.

Mexica Tiahui Tonantzin Tlalli

Mexica Tiahui Tonantzin Tlalli

Mexica Tiahui Tonantzin Tlalli

Tonantzin Tonantzin Tonantzin Tlalli

Tonantzin Tonantzin Tonantzin Tlalli

Tonantzin Tonantzin Tonantzin Tlalli

In the spirit of Cuauhtemoc, with a teocuicatl

For this one that I bring to the chinampas

The cemanahuac,

The land of her people,

Mestiza, mixed with oppressor and oppressed blood

She is me,

And I ask you to bless her…

“You speak?” I asked, barely able to comprehend the question myself.

“As well as you can hear me,” replied the Eagle.

“Where are you taking me?” I managed to stumble out in a meek tone.

“Along time ago, there existed a belief of land, a promised land to your ancestors. I am taking you to this promised land called, Aztlan.”

“Aztlan? Isn’t that where Mexico is now?”

“No, it is the land of the seven Nahua peoples, elevated to a celestial location that only a few spirits know the location of. This is why the clouds have come to veil your eyes to its path.”

“You are not like any Eagle I’ve seen before, nor any that I’ve read about. How is it that you are so large and can have speech?”

“It began a long time ago as I began to sow a set of wings onto the design of a Reboso. As a child we fled Mexico, in fear of our death, my parents were political. Coming to the United States I missed my abuelitos so much that I dreamed every night that I could fly to them. I sang old indigenous songs and wove Rebosos so as not to forget everything that my abuelitos had taught me. One time my mother told me a story of a young warrior who once dreamed of saving his people from self-destruction and division. Tribes had become hostile towards each other and the blood from their war was polluting the Earth. He asked Quetzalcoatl to bless his arms to transform themselves on their own accord to wings so that he could fly over the lands of his people. He gathered the dirt of the Mother Earth, Tonantzin, into a blanket, and from the skies he scattered the dirt onto the heads of the people of the land. The dirt was soft in texture and smelled of fresh ground, ground that was ready to be planted with seed. As soon as the dirt was dropped onto the heads of the people, they came to realize what they were doing to the land. All ceased their activities and began to pray for forgiveness from Tonantzin. I wove each line of the story into the wings and soon the Reboso was the most elaborate of designs that I had ever seen. My mother begged me to wear the Reboso and as the fabric touched my skin it transformed my arms to wings. My mother cried in shock, and then grabbed my scared face in her hands. She told me that I was destined to be this warrior and that I was given these wings to carry the dirt of Tonanzin back to its land and remind the people of what we are doing to Mother Earth. Before I was half-human, returning to visit my abuelitos every now and then, and then after realizing my past to its fullest extent, I chose to be just Eagle.”

The Eagle continued to sing, and as if my heart knew the song it drummed inside my chest to the beat of the Eagle’s voice. We continued to travel in this cloud for a long time until it became dark, only then did we descend downwards. The comfort of light was a luxury lost, and the air of night blinded my sight to even seeing my own hand in front of me. Laying me on a soft cushion, I could barely make out the red color of the soft object I was laid upon. The Eagle seemed to perch himself next to me, or so it felt. I did not know what to do, I was exhausted from the commotion and I felt my eyes become like bricks wanting to close shut. I reasoned that if I should fall asleep maybe I would awake back home, and would see that this was all just a dream. I had no other choice than to submit to rest. That night I had a dream of a woman, dressed like one of those women at the pow-wow I went to last summer, she danced from side to side, displaying her woman-made wings of Eagle feathers.

The stiff morning light woke me from my dream; however it was the image before me that woke me from my sleep. I jumped from surprise and end up rolling off the soft red cushion I slept on. The Eagle was gone and before me stood a large green plant of some sort with tons of red cushioned balls at the bottom of its stump. I could not make out the extent of this green plant because I was harbored under its thick green pads that stretched very far. I started to make out the structure of a large cactus, due partly to the long narrow needles that came out from the green pads. Astonished my heart seemed to stop and the cold air met the sweat dripping from my brow. Without changing my disposition a sound emerged from the edge of one of the red cushions. It was like a rattling sound, recognizing the desert environment and cactus plant I imagined the danger perpetuating from the origin of that sound. In deed it was a serpent emerging from the red cushion.

“Is the Eagle gone?” he said.

I heard the question come from the serpent’s mouth like clear day and could not manage a response.

He continued, “I suppose Eagle has brought you here for a reason, otherwise he would have ate me before he left. Damn him and his mind games! My life is only existent for his vain desires. But never mind, this is not your plight. What is your name?”

I stood with full comprehension that I needed to respond this time, but all I could manage was a “Huh?”

“Never mind, let’s start the climb before the herd of White Horsemen approach”

“White Horsemen?” I asked

“You will see.” He then proceeded to give me further instruction,” The needles will rise out of the cactus pad as you climb so that you will have something to grab onto and step on.”

Sure enough, as I climbed the stump of the cactus, needles pricked out of the leaf and guided me behind the slithering serpent. The climb was exhilarating and I could barely catch my breath as I got closer to the true sight of the cactus plant. It was huge, and as far as I could see the leaf that we were approaching was at least 300 feet high, with no end in sight. As I reached the bottom of the cactus leaf a loud thunder of horse hooves shook the structure that I stood on. I looked back to see if I could make out the commotion but instead was interrupted by a hand on my shoulder.

“Touch the leaf of the cactus, quick before they come.” 

I turned to see the face of Alianza, with whom I had no idea of at the moment. Her touch and voice gave me courage enough to extend my hand to the soft leaf structure. The moment that I touched the skin of the leaf it seemed to take on a life of its own. Bending downwards, forming a bridge, it stretched out further than I could make out. The sharp needles started descending into the leaf’s body and without looking back I ran onto this bridge. I could feel that the woman and serpent were behind me. Running from an unknown harm I worried of its closeness to me. I finally turned and was taken back by a large white horse with a half figure of a human male attached to its backside. This White Horseman came with fire in his eyes and gun in hand. He pointed it at me and declared my submission back to the bottom of the cactus leaf. The woman, Alianza, placed her hand on my shoulder once again to reassure my safety. 

“They can not pass” she said with dignity.

Before I could ask a single question the White Horseman galloped onto the leaf without fear. The faster and closer he came to me the more frozen I became. I could not move. My fear was suddenly surprised with the ascending needles that shot up from the leaf and into the chest of this beast. Looking down at me, he died in this a horrid position. 

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Who are you?” is all I could manage to explode out of my mouth.

“I am Alianza.”

This is all I could remember before I fell into a deep sleep. 

I’ve always know I was dreaming by the thickness of the air and the feeling of deep rest inside. In this particular dream it was night, and the air felt like a warm blanket wrapped around my skin. There is a tall pine in the middle of a very dry desert and it reminds me of my grandmother. As I appear above these images they are unclear and it appears as if they are all under a smoking mirror. As I look down I can feel scars blooming all over my body like morning glories but instead of the sun light awakening them it is the dark images behind this mirror. There are so many negative thoughts running through my mind, like the feeling of shame, guilt and desperation. The thoughts are really like bad memories flashing past real quickly. With the bad memories open up right and left demons appear that I haven’t see in a long time. I can hear them land introduce me to the land, Mictlan is what they say its name is and Tezcatlipoca will visit me before the end. 

Frantically I am looking for salvation from the pain of the open wounds and the negativity. I need water to clean them and some type of ointment to relieve the pain. I need to escape their presence, but everywhere I run they are one step behind me. They are so close, they are so close, what am I going to do, help someone help. Run up the stairs Alicia, into the sky they can not follow you. I run up clear stairs into the sky, each step like mud under my feet. As I rise I notice a corn field not too far. While swimming in the sky to this small patch of corn stalks that is located in the middle of the universe my heart starts to calm and the pain seems to wash away. The air feels so nice against my skin and I feel my body turning back to deep rest as the corn field disappears. The sky smells like dark ocean water, and I began to remember my adoration for the raging sea. Moving my arms up and down I began to stroke the air like water until I find myself unable to breathe. I decide to swim higher, maybe this is just a suffocating layer that I can escape. Up and up my arms push for the freedom to breathe again. There seems to be a bright light high above and I reach for it. As soon as I feel the light’s warmth on my skin I start to breathe air back into my lungs. I see land ahead and I continue to swim until I feel solid ground under my toes. Reaching the shore makes me realize my own exhaustion and my feet drag me onto the wet sands. Once ashore I was stopped in my tracks by the gorgeous green mass of the jungle around me. The jungle seemed to have this ancient feeling about it, like it has been shielded from human sight for many years, untouched and overgrown.  

 I feel a sense of home, like I have been here once, during a daydream or a soft made up memory and I can feel the presence of a best friend near. I can feel her heart racing and her paws pounding on my luscious rain forest ground. Something about everything feels normal, a familiar narcissistic dream that clings to my skin like sweat glands, while I race for my ego’s sake. She runs as fast as my dream can keep up with her, she needs no introduction to my heart. The black coat shining like freshly cleansed amour. Her whiskers brush against the leaves and bark, communicating a sense of longing for my presence. Her bear-like ears and square-like spots tell me she is jaguar coming to play with me. I race into the depths of the forest to try and find her, only to realize she is running alongside me like a shadow. We jump into a tall tree and run along its limb, I can feel a sense of playfulness about me. I am playing a game except I don’t know how to win so I try and run faster to see if it is a race for ego’s sake. Jumping from tree to tree I have no fear of falling. The faster I run the deeper I feel I am falling into a loving embrace. 

Our race ends as we both collapse on the ground, my breathe full of laughter. Our eyes are caught by a single star raised above a huge mountain; its side looks rich with fresh water and berries. I let the light of the star guide me through my path, the jaguar right next to me. As I pick berries, Jaguar drinks from the stream. I am sitting content on an open patch of grass when the stream begins to rise vertically, like another mirror. Behind this wall of water is an image of myself. I am standing in the dry dessert again with the large pine tree that has by grandmother’s presence.  My brown eyes look lost in thought and my body is in a fighting stance. There are open bleeding wounds. Jaguar and I sit still, like an audience to a performance as she began to recite us a poem:

Jaguar Dreams

I keep having dreams ,

they are my pills

that act swiftly against the headaches of life.

The last dream made its purpose clear

of its intentions…

I am Coatlicue, reborn human Xicana

with the ability to call on Jaguar Spirit

to protect the people of the earth,

to heal La Raza Cosmica.

My jaguar skin expands twice the size

than what is known for the jaguar to grow,

the coral white of my teeth

are like ancient stone knives,

prepped for hunt.

My eyes the dark green of jade.

My gaze caresses the soul into entrapment

if you look straight into them.

To all my enemies,

I can not kill you without digesting your hearts

so that it can be reborn out of me to your soul,

your hands must be swallowed whole,

so they can toil the earth of my spirit,

to remember what their true purpose is.

Only in the form of Jaguar can I call out

to the Mujeres of the earth

to join me in a war against a common enemy.

We enter war until the 5th moon has finally resigned,

and the 6th sun enters the new cycle of the wombyn.

Humanity is reborn,

brought forth by the force of La Mujere

in the form of animal Jaguar.

I am not a heroine,

nor a tool for bad intent.

I am shape-shifter

that eat the hearts and hands of those

that poison the maize.

Those that have fallen our victims

are truly victims of their own bad intentions.

I am not a savior,

a killer,

flesh-eater,

asked to remain for all eternity

as stone in the temple gates

to protect humanity

from returning to its loss of hope.

I think about this dream

and remember my own plight again,

those that poison my milpa,

my cultivated flesh.

I can no longer be ignorant

to the poison that ruins my crop.

The struggle within that causes the headaches

is really frustration

of allowing my fields to be taken

without so much as a NO!

and it makes me think…

of what I really am inside.

     It was then that I woke.

First day of school

I remember watching the evil red lights from the electronic clock above the television set. The minutes kept on running away from me the more I wished that time would stop. I thought if I hide the time behind my mother’s embroidered handkerchief the clock couldn’t remind her that it was time for me to start kindergarten. They both knew, my mom and dad, that it would be hard for me. I was more attached to my mother’s side then her own hip. When she was too busy to have me by her side I would hide in her coat and pretend she was there. Now there was no where to pretend.

     My parents and I had visited the school the previous week, and it reminded me of a doctor’s office. The floor was this unfriendly dull white that made me dizzy if I starred at my feet while walking. The florescent lights made me feel like I was watching an annoying commercial. The circle area was covered with rough blue carpet that had ugly grey designs on it. The teacher was nice, so I said hello but stayed clinging to my mother’s side. My father took a look at the list of my classmates and said with a forced joy, “Look, Elisa there’s another girl with your name in the class.” I thought maybe she was my twin that my mother had lost at birth and this thought soothed my anxiety of being alone for the rest of the week.

     I watched my mother intently as she rummaged her room for her keys and had my fingers crossed that I was staying home. “Elisa, let’s go.” “Oh no,” I thought in my head, “the handkerchief didn’t work, maybe I’ll think of something better tomorrow.”

Birthing Experience

To begin, I think it’s worth saying that everyone’s birthing experience is as uniquely beautiful as the soul that you are bringing into this world. I am not young, nor am I old. I have had life changing experiences that questioned my integrity, soul, morals, values, and abilities to its fullest, however nothing compared to the experience of giving birth to my first child, Isabella Xochitl Perez. As a person with experience, I’ve learned preparing for life changing events requires a mental, physical and emotional preparation. Some of these preparations meant going outside of my realm of experience and of course my realm of comfort.

I am the youngest of my mother’s 4 children, and there is a significant age difference between myself and my other siblings. The youngest of my siblings is 7 years older than me. At the time my daughter was born my mother and father were grandparents to 10 grandchildren and 3 great-grandchildren. Not one of those births I watched first hand.

During the nine months that I carried my daughter I learned about the importance of nutrition, health, stress, exercise, and most important support systems. I had never heard of doulas before, so I engaged in conversations with the Open Arms staff about what having a doula meant. This was not a quick decision that my husband and I made. We talked and thought a great deal about having someone other than family in the room with me. It was a big deal for me, I had grown up with my mother as the only person in the room with my sisters, no one else but doctors and nurses. My body would be exposed, I would be vulnerable and doing something that I had never done before. Questions kept re-occurring about failure, comfort, privacy, strength, courage and intimacy.

Something happened to me along the way that some women don’t talk about, that is depression. I was battling so many obstacles throughout the pregnancy that I was so used to pushing back to get through the situation, I never realized that being pregnant meant you couldn’t push those things to the back anymore. Life was magnified for me, both in the bad and the good. One particular day I felt so low, I couldn’t push back the tears, I couldn’t hold them in. I couldn’t talk without the tears running down my cheeks. I walked into the Open Arms office and cried my heart out. I talked through the emotion with them, I allowed them into my pain, and for me it was the first time I realized I didn’t have to do this alone.

Later we began our meetings with our doula, Jennifer MacArthur. She came into our home and we talked about what was important to me, what I was scared about and how I wanted my birthing experience to go. We talked about my cultural values and how it relates to the birthing experience. We talked about what I saw my husband’s role as, what I saw her role as and what I saw my family’s role as. There were so many hard decisions that needed to be made, so many unknowns to how I’d react. Jennifer shared her experience, her knowledge and expertise. The conversations that took place in my home leading to Isabella’s birth were intimate and inclusive of my values and wishes. The guidance she gave up spoke to my fears, her reassurance talked to my courage and her openness to what I wanted affirmed my self-confidence to make this experience my own.

Sunday Morning, at about a quarter to 7 I rolled over and watched my husband sleep next to me. I was debating getting up, I knew my little one probably wouldn’t let me sleep in much, as she usually didn’t at that point (both inside the womb and out she’s proven to be the master of her space). I closed my eyes and felt a little water exiting from between my legs. I shook my husband and told him I think my water is breaking. Within seconds the thought became an elevated declaration that my water was breaking. I immediately wobbled to the shower with my husband’s support, as I undressed the first contraction blossomed in my body like a habanero chile. The warm shower wrapped my body like a blanket, calming the new sensational pain as I breathed through it. It also helped me to forget the insecure feeling of not being able to stop the water flow. For some reason I felt the need to find something to plug me back up, and had to remind myself that it was normal and part of the process. We called our dolua first, told her about the contractions, how far apart they were, my water breaking and then I asked her if we should go to the hospital. We knew when it was a good time to go, we had been through the classes, we knew how to count the length and space between contractions, we did the homework on what to expect. However she did something that I think was essential to empowering me at a moment that I felt so frail, she repeated what we had been told, to make sure I call the nurse right away and then told me that all that aside I had the right to make that decision on my own, the contractions weren’t so close that I needed to go in right, and that ultimately I needed to talk to the nurse but to remember if I felt that I needed to go in then I should listen to that voice telling me what I should do.  Empowering my instinct. We decided to go.

If I remember right it was one of those gloomy, I don’t want to wake up mornings. We put some towels down on the seat, got in the car and braced for impact with every contraction on the way to the hospital, pot holes were not my friends. I remember looking at the grey clouds in the sky, they were so calm for rain clouds and the streets were for the most part empty. I felt my mind using the backdrop of the clouds to calm and prepare. I kept telling myself to not get too excited, they might send me home.

We got there and they had me in the interim room, they needed to assess whether or not to send me home since my contractions were not far enough along. They were checking particularly for meconium, since the water broke. Since they found traces in my urine they decided to keep me on-site to monitor any signs that the baby might be affected by the meconium exposure. My mother and dolua were the first ones on-site. We laughed and joked through the contractions, we talked and walked around the birthing unit. She had me doing what is sometimes referred to as the “Russian dance” it felt funny but made me feel useful. Shortly after doing a few dancing steps the contractions came on harder.

I bathed for a while and then just remained in my room, my sister arrived then, she was the last of those that I’d decided were going to be my support in the room. I remember one particular contraction I was sitting on the arm chair listening to some soft indigenous flute music. The contraction came on hard, it felt like a giant weight impressed itself onto my soul, I wasn’t in my body for that moment, I was on the side of an un-climbable mountain, fighting to see the top.  Every sensation of pain became one loud cry and my soul was pushing forward for me. All I could see is Jennifer, “Breathe, Breathe” she started a movement with her hands that was particularly ingenious at the moment. She laid out her hand in front of her and started pushing down as if she was pushing down the pain, as she did this she would remind me to let go of the pain, let it release out. Even now I couldn’t have told you where in my body the pain was coming from because it felt like one blurry voice, but her movement reminded me of my own strength. I could feel my soul empowered again and started uttering “I can do this, I can do this” she responded “yes you can, yes you can.”

Jennifer, my husband, mother and sister were there reminding me of my strength for the next 14 hours, I called them my four pillars of strength. Something key to me was having someone to help keep my sanity. Jennifer seemed to grab me with her eyes and pull me back every time I thought I couldn’t pull through, I felt a rhythmic flow, and she interfaced with nurses for me. I wanted to rip off the nurse’s head every time they asked me to describe where the pain was coming from or when the doctor asked me how I was doing, not that I didn’t appreciate it, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone unless I absolutely needed to.

My mind was focused, I had to stay calm, I had to relax my body, I had to encumber the pain and most importantly I had to make important decisions and recite as much information to the doctor as possible, the threat of too much exposure to the meconium and the lack of expansion of my uterus was becoming an ever looming threat.

Because I was not dilating like I was supposed to, the resident doctor recommended Pitocin. I did not receive the information well, I preferred not to take any labor inducer and was terrified of a c-section. I remember turning to Jennifer with a firm determination that we needed to stick to the plan of no epidural, this was important to me. Not because I wanted to be tough or prove something, but because the experience was important to me, it was an important moment that my daughter and I were sharing.

Things only escalated as the Pitocin had induced the pain very rapidly, 2 hours I stayed on the fence swaying back and forth about getting the epidural. My sister and mother wanted me to do what I thought best, but I could see it in their eyes that they were ready to cry with me. There were times that I felt myself tearing into pieces, and then hearing Jennifer’s kind but stern voice pulling me back. I went back and forth, and she reminded me that I had requested her help keep me in line with my goals if I was still on the fence about the epidural, and she did. When I finally made the decision about taking the epidural I felt the choice was my own, and not the pressure or the pain made that choice for me, it was me making a choice that I felt right about. 

Of course, I was on cloud nine for a long while after that and it felt good to rest. Then as the sun rose and morning fell on us I began to notice a change in the pain. I had dilated far enough and the doctor and nurse kept asking me if I was ready to push, I had no idea. Apparently, it’s just something you know, but for me that wasn’t the case. I couldn’t quite distinguish the pain, just that it felt different. Jennifer walked me through a breathing and pushing exercise and it clicked right there. The pushing seemed to be pushing out the pain too, at least that’s what it felt like in my head.

I watched through a mirror my daughter making her way out little by little, until she graced us finally at 10 am Monday morning. I could feel the wave of emotion hit me as took her first breathe and let out a cry. The moment she was placed in my arms I felt a rush of calm, her big beautiful open eyes looked up at me with such character and life I could not believe she had just come from me moments ago.

Writing Session

I need to write, I need to write

the air told me I need to write.

Yesterday the heat energized my skin

deep down into the pores I heard it say

all sorts of lines, the chest pounding like the drums.

I walked and walked

and found myself beating the bad thoughts with

I need to write, I need to write.

The air died down to hometown smooth cool beats,

and the wind came down and told me I need to write.

It put my little princess down to sleep and

closed the eyes of my husband,

and I sat and I sat

and found myself running with thoughts,

I need to write, I need to write.

So much to fill the page with,

souls returning, life forming.

I am healing my mind, come find me creator,

I want to remember the path you once gave me a long time ago.

Come find me healer, I am ready now.

I am here as your pupil now.

I will not suffer self-subjection, now.

I cannot afford to now.

There is a little growing soul that I watch over now.

I am not alone now.

I am your pupil now, let me write, let me write.

There is always time to write,

when you need to write.