I looked out at the bulrush in the fields. In the winter they are like groupings of flags, but with only the slightest of movements because the air is cold and quiet and sleeping. Their stalks imbue a sense of nothingness, and yet hope because spring will come and they will be green again and frogs will croak at their feet. Birds will perch and sing upon the stems. And there will be a community there. Life.
This is outside a window of a building where my first child will be born. I am now three months pregnant and am at the Birthing Centre in Six Nations, which is a few houses down from where I grew up as a child. The midwives are calm. The energy here is calm. And outside is the same landscape where I first experienced wonder, magic, and the earth. This is where my child will first breathe, cry, and sleep in the arms of his or her parents. And it is a beautiful circle, like everything else.
As my baby and I evolve, so does the earth. The snow will melt, the bulrushes will wake, the earth will thaw, grass will sprout, and life will thrive. In the summer there will be abundance. And at the end of it all as we begin harvest for fall and as our autumn nesting begins, our child will be here.
For a couple weeks I was scared. I have been brutally ill, morose, and fearful that I will somehow be a terrible mother or that birth will be too painful and too stressful. But something has happened to me that I wanted to share — and it was inspired by hearing the heartbeat of this little person who is coming — and it is that this is completely natural and destined. The earth becomes fertile and blooms every year without fail. The earth is mother. Women mirror this process and have forever. And I am woman, I am mother, I am inherently able like the land around me.
I am going to be blogging again, regularly I hope. Some days this is all I can do because I’ve been quite ill, so I have to exile myself to my bed for days at time here and there. Blogging is such a blessing – sharing, journaling, mapping out, looking back. I need that now. The therapy and joy of writing it out.