My moons had been quite regular, about 28 days apart and lasted about 5 days, medium the first three days and light the others. (To me medium means I change my pad 3-4 times a day and light is 1-2 times). Frequently I marked ahead in my calendar when my moon bloods were expected to appear. It felt comforting to include it more as part of my life plan, to honor my fertility and myself. I kept track of my moon cycles on moon calendars and have them back for about 10 years.
My moon times began to come closer together & less regularly as my late 40’s progressed. Sometimes instead of PMS I seemed to get post menstrual syndrome of feeling down. I never knew when it would hit. There were times when my estrogen was supercharged, my body busy trying hard to get pregnant. This got the blood going because the lining was extra thick -- and also the fertile mucus at ovulation time. Once, I remember sitting on the toilet and when I went to wipe seeing a long thick thread of fertile mucus that stretched from my bottom to the water. Now I know that by knowing when I ovulate I could have know my moonblood would appear about 14 days later. Women are internally consistent on their time between ovulation and bleeding, for the most part. That too becomes a bit more wobbly during the menopausal transition.
Then around becoming 50 years old my moonbloods spaced out and became lighter. Sometimes I didn't have fertile mucus and would have anovulatory bleed. At that point I suddenly realized that I wouldn’t always have my period. I had finally embraced my moonbloods as a big part of my womanhood, counter to society’s norm. Now I had to let go it again. I began to wonder each time if this were my last time to bleed and savored the bloodiness of it. I even used it to paint several designs. Sometimes there were phantom periods where I felt like I was getting my bloods. Nothing came out but my sensations and emotions were very menstrual. Then it became six months between bleeds and my final moonblood was in April, 2005. I was 52, the average age for menopause. Of course I didn’t know for another year if I was totally done.
The hormones seem to be settling down now. I've learned from Susan Weed, herbalist, that after the period stops the hromones take several years to toally settle into the final levels of cronehood. My body is changing. The skin on my hands seems thinner and less elastic. More skin tags are appearing as my estrogen drops suddenly now and then. So far my libido and yoni haven’t suffered. I’m 55 now.
The hot flashes are few and far between at this point – maybe days between now. They were never too troublesome for me—just a bit of disrobing when the heat came and then redressing when they passed. The hardest part of hot flashes for me is that getting too hot can trigger them. Whenever I cuddled with my sweet husband I would get too hot and have a hot flash and have to push away from him. Thats gotten better at this point. Herbs did help me through —shatavari root, an ayurvedic female tonic and taking Oregon grape root tincture about 5 days a month before menses or, when I stopped cycling, 5 days a month near the full moon.
All in all there was much emotion, experience and meaning that came through my moonbloods. I treasure my memories and learnings about womanhood that came through them, even though sometimes they seemed like a curse and society still insists it is.
27 July 2008
Poetry - Twin Souls
Now it does not matter that our births were a decade apart.
We are twins, born together into each other’s arms.
We have grown from one egg & even when we divide & differentiate into our separate lives
Each of our cells remembers the unity of floating together in the Great Ocean of Motherness.
We cannot help but desire that oneness again in the midst of this disjointed world.
So we meet again-
First our eyes, which have looked upon the wide wide world, return to each other.
Then our laughter & stories meet until they are the moan of our merging.
Our hands clasp & then speak silently while all of our skin becomes ears to hear their poetry.
Our lips & mouths conjoin – form a wet bower for our baring bodies.
The whole of our flesh finds entrance into what we were before each of us was,
as we dive again into each other, & the waters part in waves around us,
And we are floating forever
And all to briefly
Before being forced through the tunnel of love
Back to where we are both separate & seeking.
We are twins, born together into each other’s arms.
We have grown from one egg & even when we divide & differentiate into our separate lives
Each of our cells remembers the unity of floating together in the Great Ocean of Motherness.
We cannot help but desire that oneness again in the midst of this disjointed world.
So we meet again-
First our eyes, which have looked upon the wide wide world, return to each other.
Then our laughter & stories meet until they are the moan of our merging.
Our hands clasp & then speak silently while all of our skin becomes ears to hear their poetry.
Our lips & mouths conjoin – form a wet bower for our baring bodies.
The whole of our flesh finds entrance into what we were before each of us was,
as we dive again into each other, & the waters part in waves around us,
And we are floating forever
And all to briefly
Before being forced through the tunnel of love
Back to where we are both separate & seeking.
24 July 2008
Menstrual Memories Part 2- Learning by Experience
It’s interesting how I often got, as Kate Clinton (feminist comedian) puts it, "menstrual amnesia." I'd start feeling off, more tired, cry easily, cranky, poor digestion and then achy in my lower abdomen. Suddenly I’d realize or my husband would remind me -- it's time for my moon blood! Once the bloods started flowing freely my cramping was better.
When I took space and time in my life for my increased premenstrual and menstrual sensitivity and did only what felt good for me, I felt nourished. When I tried to ignore it and go on as though I was no different at this time, I ended up feeling out of touch and unfulfilled.
When I learned the teachings of Ayurveda about menstrual self care it coincided with my own experience. Resting allows the body to really let go well and use its energy for cleansing and rejuvenating. Eating warm, cooked foods eases digestion. Balancing the body throughout the month brings an easier time during the menstrual cycle, as well as healthy fertility.
I began wearing a moon blood gown for at least my first day of bleeding. It was brownish red with bleach dyed spirals on it. It flowed loosely around my body with voluminous sleeves that made it easier to let go of doing too much activity. I rested as much as my life could allow. At prenatals my apprentices would take up the slack for me those days (and visa versa when it was their time of month.) They’d bring me my tea and lunch and clean up for me, as well as doing the linear things like blood pressure, measuring the belly, weighing for the pregnant women. Somehow the birth energy coordinated well with my menstrual state—they seemed similar in terms of the expanded consciousness, openness of mind, and instinctual connection, so births didn’t seem to disturb my menstrual rest as much as the more linear world. My family knew it was my moon time and would give me more space and fewer demands as well.
When I learned about Maya Abdominal Massage and healing their teachings coincided with those nurturing practices, as do most of the native medicines of the world. Maya Massage uses massage techniques to reposition a tipped uterus, which eases menstrual cramping.
I had a Maya Massage first from Miss Beatrice Waight, a Maya midwife and healer who visited Boulder. After just one massage from her my next menses was painless. The brown blood which preceded and followed the red went away. She told me that the brown blood was old blood due to poor drainage during previous periods. After beginning to do the self massage techniques taught by Rosita Arvigo, another Maya massage teacher, I never had brown blood again!
Over the years of menses I used tampons of varying types, disposable pads of differing brands, sea sponges, a diaphragm, recycled diapers & finally, nicely sewn cloth pads to catch my blood. A few times I bled directly onto the Earth and this felt particularly satisfying. When I used the cloth type of pads I often soaked them and fed the moon water to my houseplants. This blood demanded more respect and utility than being treated it like garbage.
Using tampons seems counter to the body’s wisdom, not only because of toxic shock syndrome, or Ayurvedic teachings about disturbing the downward energy. They can irritate the cervix, causing more cramping, in my experience and other women I've talked with. And that sensation of blood coming out is a primordial experience of womanhood – it may be a key to the mysterious processes of fertility and birth which we do not yet understand.
When I took space and time in my life for my increased premenstrual and menstrual sensitivity and did only what felt good for me, I felt nourished. When I tried to ignore it and go on as though I was no different at this time, I ended up feeling out of touch and unfulfilled.
When I learned the teachings of Ayurveda about menstrual self care it coincided with my own experience. Resting allows the body to really let go well and use its energy for cleansing and rejuvenating. Eating warm, cooked foods eases digestion. Balancing the body throughout the month brings an easier time during the menstrual cycle, as well as healthy fertility.
I began wearing a moon blood gown for at least my first day of bleeding. It was brownish red with bleach dyed spirals on it. It flowed loosely around my body with voluminous sleeves that made it easier to let go of doing too much activity. I rested as much as my life could allow. At prenatals my apprentices would take up the slack for me those days (and visa versa when it was their time of month.) They’d bring me my tea and lunch and clean up for me, as well as doing the linear things like blood pressure, measuring the belly, weighing for the pregnant women. Somehow the birth energy coordinated well with my menstrual state—they seemed similar in terms of the expanded consciousness, openness of mind, and instinctual connection, so births didn’t seem to disturb my menstrual rest as much as the more linear world. My family knew it was my moon time and would give me more space and fewer demands as well.
When I learned about Maya Abdominal Massage and healing their teachings coincided with those nurturing practices, as do most of the native medicines of the world. Maya Massage uses massage techniques to reposition a tipped uterus, which eases menstrual cramping.
I had a Maya Massage first from Miss Beatrice Waight, a Maya midwife and healer who visited Boulder. After just one massage from her my next menses was painless. The brown blood which preceded and followed the red went away. She told me that the brown blood was old blood due to poor drainage during previous periods. After beginning to do the self massage techniques taught by Rosita Arvigo, another Maya massage teacher, I never had brown blood again!
Over the years of menses I used tampons of varying types, disposable pads of differing brands, sea sponges, a diaphragm, recycled diapers & finally, nicely sewn cloth pads to catch my blood. A few times I bled directly onto the Earth and this felt particularly satisfying. When I used the cloth type of pads I often soaked them and fed the moon water to my houseplants. This blood demanded more respect and utility than being treated it like garbage.
Using tampons seems counter to the body’s wisdom, not only because of toxic shock syndrome, or Ayurvedic teachings about disturbing the downward energy. They can irritate the cervix, causing more cramping, in my experience and other women I've talked with. And that sensation of blood coming out is a primordial experience of womanhood – it may be a key to the mysterious processes of fertility and birth which we do not yet understand.
21 July 2008
Poetry - From Momma
I know from long ago
the slush of my mother’s guts
the beat beating of her heart –
now part of me now
in the way that I walk & dance
& sing a song, a sing song.
the slush of my mother’s guts
the beat beating of her heart –
now part of me now
in the way that I walk & dance
& sing a song, a sing song.
17 July 2008
Sleep as a Midwife
My mother told me that I loved to sleep as a child. Whenever I rode in the car, I fell asleep. So when I was fussy as a baby or toddler, she’d take me in the car and drive around the block to settle me in slumber. I also napped well past the age that most children gave it up. As I got older, I liked to lie on the couch in the middle of the commotion of our large family and go to sleep.
This ability to sleep in various situations came in handy as a midwife. During one long, early labor, I remember squeezing onto a couch with my midwifery partner, the only warm place to rest up for the work ahead.
Even though I was a deep sleeper, I could wake in a flash. When the phone rang in the dead of the night, I always answered after the first ring and I’d be wide, wide awake as the expectant father told me what was happening with his mate.
Sleeping at a birth was NOT a deep sleep. Usually the woman would be moaning with her contractions, while her mate and my midwifery partner sat with her. I dozed in a nearby room, to the rhythm of her labor song. Her vocalizing was a subconscious gauge for me to know when I needed to awaken—a shift in the sound of her throat often signaled a shift in the opening of her cervix as well.
After staying up most of the night at a labor and birth I would drive home, amazed at how the world kept moving and hadn’t paused in awe at the timeless experience of childbirth. I felt like announcing to each person, place & thing, “A woman gave birth! A baby was born!”
By the time I got home, my tired eyes could barely see, which was lucky since my home was usually in disarray when I got there – like the rest of the world my family hadn’t paused its activities in amazement at another baby’s birth. I’d make sure children were tended, prenatals rescheduled, and stomach was satisfied. Then I’d close the blinds, remove my clothes stained by the blood and waters of birth, bathe away the residue of that intense experience, and FINALLY put my aching body into my familiar bed to enjoy some deep sleep.
Hopefully another laboring family wouldn’t call before I awoke refreshed as that sleep-loving baby I once was.
This ability to sleep in various situations came in handy as a midwife. During one long, early labor, I remember squeezing onto a couch with my midwifery partner, the only warm place to rest up for the work ahead.
Even though I was a deep sleeper, I could wake in a flash. When the phone rang in the dead of the night, I always answered after the first ring and I’d be wide, wide awake as the expectant father told me what was happening with his mate.
Sleeping at a birth was NOT a deep sleep. Usually the woman would be moaning with her contractions, while her mate and my midwifery partner sat with her. I dozed in a nearby room, to the rhythm of her labor song. Her vocalizing was a subconscious gauge for me to know when I needed to awaken—a shift in the sound of her throat often signaled a shift in the opening of her cervix as well.
After staying up most of the night at a labor and birth I would drive home, amazed at how the world kept moving and hadn’t paused in awe at the timeless experience of childbirth. I felt like announcing to each person, place & thing, “A woman gave birth! A baby was born!”
By the time I got home, my tired eyes could barely see, which was lucky since my home was usually in disarray when I got there – like the rest of the world my family hadn’t paused its activities in amazement at another baby’s birth. I’d make sure children were tended, prenatals rescheduled, and stomach was satisfied. Then I’d close the blinds, remove my clothes stained by the blood and waters of birth, bathe away the residue of that intense experience, and FINALLY put my aching body into my familiar bed to enjoy some deep sleep.
Hopefully another laboring family wouldn’t call before I awoke refreshed as that sleep-loving baby I once was.
15 July 2008
Giving Birth to Alana
The morning before I gave birth to my second child, I met my 8-month pregnant friend Delta to go shopping at the used clothing store for baby clothes. We sighed and laughed at the tiny baby T shirts. So cute. Would our babies really be this size, like little dollies? It had been 9 years since my son was born and I felt almost like a first time mom again. I couldn’t resist the T shirts and bought way more than needed. As we wrestled our way through the rest of the clothes, guessing what might fit, might be right for our own precious and unique offspring, I began to feel some rumblings of the cervix presaging labor.
We decided to go to the L.A.Diner for a naughty treat of French fries and chocolate milk shakes. We watched the server glide by on her roller skates as we settled into the classic red vinyl booth to discuss the ups and downs of our pregnant bodies and minds.
After the outing, I went home and napped a bit, feeling labor might be coming, yet adhering to my technique of shortening labor by ignoring it as much and as long as possible, rather than getting everyone too excited too soon. After the nap I felt refreshed and went on a walk through south Boulder to circumambulate the closest body of water—Viele Lake-- a pond which in dry Colorado passes for a lake.
Gravity and walking were moving my sweet baby’s head downward onto my cervix, stimulating early labor contractions. They were still easy to move through but when I got home again I checked inside “just in case”. It’s not easy to reach your own cervix especially with a big baby belly, but I did it well enough to know that it was still early labor. Still menstrual cramp contractions.
I decided to take to the water again, this time in the bath tub. The late afternoon sun streamed down on me through the skylight as I refreshed myself after the summer sweaty walk. Julien, then 9 years old, came in to ask me about supper. I told him, ”Your baby brother/sister might be born tonight.” He was the first one I told. After awhile I got out of the tub, dripping bathwater on the warm linoleum, lightly drying myself off and throwing on a cool summer dress. Then I went for another long walk. I wasn’t into eating dinner.
As evening progressed, Julien went to bed and Charlie patiently attended me as I paced around the house. I shed my clothes, feeling so hot. I began to moan with the contractions, crescendoing into loud cries of “MY BONES ARE BREAKING” or “MA-MAAA”. Although my vocalizations sounded like cries of suffering, inside I felt safe and sure. It was as though the sound waves carried away the suffering, leaving me to peacefully coexist in the present moment with each contraction pain and the stretching open of my pelvic bones.
After an hour of these more intense contractions Charlie called the midwives, Willy & Ursula, to help with the birth. A part of me wanted to do it alone and if Charlie hadn’t have been there I probably would have. I felt sufficient unto myself. By the time they got there it was so intense that I agreed to lie down only for the brief minute between contractions for an exam. I was 8 centimeters- heavy into process. I jumped back up as the next contraction began to do my walking meditation and moaning. Willy tied a turquoise and black scarf around my middle as I continued my naked pacing. “This will keep your kidneys warm,” she said. As if I could care less.
About half an hour later I settled in the living room, next to the couch, kneeling and leaning against it in a body prayer of surrender. Charlie massaged my back for awhile before going into the kitchen to get a quick snack. Shortly after that my waters broke open and my body started pushing with my natural urges. Leaning forward like I had been made it feel like my clitoris was being pinched, so I knelt upright instead, with good effect. After just a few pushes Willy caught my baby before he/she fell out onto the floor. As the baby came out I thought I caught a glimpse of a penis between the cute little baby legs. I sat back to hold my newborn—the cord was so short I could barely bring the baby to my chest. We didn’t yet look to see if it was a boy or girl yet. Julien was going to do the honors but couldn’t be awakened from his deep sleep to be at the birth. That was my only disappointment. So Charlie checked in the receiving blanket to see the sex and he said “She’s a girl!” I knew this was his first time checking for this so I encouraged him to look again—“Are you sure? I thought I saw a penis.” “I’m sure,” he said, pointing towards her obviously feminine anatomy. I had wanted a girl so badly that I’d told myself that I didn’t care so I wouldn’t be disappointed. It must have been the umbilical cord that I saw between her legs.
When I looked around the living room I noticed the small crowd there—all people I’d invited to be at the birth- Willy’s husband Larry, their girls Sela & Robin, Delta, and our housemate, Linda. Charlie’s brother Thomas arrived shortly after the birth. It was a festive & friendly feeling having these friends around us. We were so happy to have our beautiful bald baby girl in our arms.
We decided to go to the L.A.Diner for a naughty treat of French fries and chocolate milk shakes. We watched the server glide by on her roller skates as we settled into the classic red vinyl booth to discuss the ups and downs of our pregnant bodies and minds.
After the outing, I went home and napped a bit, feeling labor might be coming, yet adhering to my technique of shortening labor by ignoring it as much and as long as possible, rather than getting everyone too excited too soon. After the nap I felt refreshed and went on a walk through south Boulder to circumambulate the closest body of water—Viele Lake-- a pond which in dry Colorado passes for a lake.
Gravity and walking were moving my sweet baby’s head downward onto my cervix, stimulating early labor contractions. They were still easy to move through but when I got home again I checked inside “just in case”. It’s not easy to reach your own cervix especially with a big baby belly, but I did it well enough to know that it was still early labor. Still menstrual cramp contractions.
I decided to take to the water again, this time in the bath tub. The late afternoon sun streamed down on me through the skylight as I refreshed myself after the summer sweaty walk. Julien, then 9 years old, came in to ask me about supper. I told him, ”Your baby brother/sister might be born tonight.” He was the first one I told. After awhile I got out of the tub, dripping bathwater on the warm linoleum, lightly drying myself off and throwing on a cool summer dress. Then I went for another long walk. I wasn’t into eating dinner.
As evening progressed, Julien went to bed and Charlie patiently attended me as I paced around the house. I shed my clothes, feeling so hot. I began to moan with the contractions, crescendoing into loud cries of “MY BONES ARE BREAKING” or “MA-MAAA”. Although my vocalizations sounded like cries of suffering, inside I felt safe and sure. It was as though the sound waves carried away the suffering, leaving me to peacefully coexist in the present moment with each contraction pain and the stretching open of my pelvic bones.
After an hour of these more intense contractions Charlie called the midwives, Willy & Ursula, to help with the birth. A part of me wanted to do it alone and if Charlie hadn’t have been there I probably would have. I felt sufficient unto myself. By the time they got there it was so intense that I agreed to lie down only for the brief minute between contractions for an exam. I was 8 centimeters- heavy into process. I jumped back up as the next contraction began to do my walking meditation and moaning. Willy tied a turquoise and black scarf around my middle as I continued my naked pacing. “This will keep your kidneys warm,” she said. As if I could care less.
About half an hour later I settled in the living room, next to the couch, kneeling and leaning against it in a body prayer of surrender. Charlie massaged my back for awhile before going into the kitchen to get a quick snack. Shortly after that my waters broke open and my body started pushing with my natural urges. Leaning forward like I had been made it feel like my clitoris was being pinched, so I knelt upright instead, with good effect. After just a few pushes Willy caught my baby before he/she fell out onto the floor. As the baby came out I thought I caught a glimpse of a penis between the cute little baby legs. I sat back to hold my newborn—the cord was so short I could barely bring the baby to my chest. We didn’t yet look to see if it was a boy or girl yet. Julien was going to do the honors but couldn’t be awakened from his deep sleep to be at the birth. That was my only disappointment. So Charlie checked in the receiving blanket to see the sex and he said “She’s a girl!” I knew this was his first time checking for this so I encouraged him to look again—“Are you sure? I thought I saw a penis.” “I’m sure,” he said, pointing towards her obviously feminine anatomy. I had wanted a girl so badly that I’d told myself that I didn’t care so I wouldn’t be disappointed. It must have been the umbilical cord that I saw between her legs.
When I looked around the living room I noticed the small crowd there—all people I’d invited to be at the birth- Willy’s husband Larry, their girls Sela & Robin, Delta, and our housemate, Linda. Charlie’s brother Thomas arrived shortly after the birth. It was a festive & friendly feeling having these friends around us. We were so happy to have our beautiful bald baby girl in our arms.
14 July 2008
Menstrual Memories-part 1
I don't really remember when my moon blood began. When I was in 6th grade all the girls were brought to the gymnasium to watch a movie. Mothers were invited. No boys or men were allowed. It was a cartoon, "tastefully" done by Disney but it wasn't very funny and no one sang songs -- "The Story of Menstruation." We watched dutifully and took home booklets that reiterated the plot, with illustrations straight from the movie. My mother asked if I had any questions. I couldn’t relate enough to think of any. I felt I was not to mention this whole thing to my friends who were boys. This was my initiation into womanhood. When I recently found and watched a copy of the film on “YouTube” I saw that it was factually correct and complete – but empty of emotion, experience, and meaning. Very empty.
In 7th grade, I decided I had to start acting like a girl instead of a tomboy. My next menstrual remembrance was as a 10th grader who had a gymnastics meet -- and my period. I locked myself in the bathroom and tried for an hour to get a tampon into my vagina. "Tampax" was the only kind available in those days and my mom used super sized ones after having five kids. Mom offered to help but I was too embarrassed, so embarrassed that I gave up and wore a pad under my leotard, which was humiliating.
Since before she was three years old my daughter noticed when I had my moon blood. She knew early that when she became a woman she would have moon bloods too and that it meant that she could grow a baby in her. One day, she was singing one of her hundreds of variations of "Mary has a little lamb.." It was "Mary has her moon blood." At age 7 1/2 she said," Some women call their moon blood their period, so it doesn't sound so gross." When she began her periods I wanted to give a blessing party-- "but, Mom~" and it was too wierd and embarassing for her-- so I did a simple ceremony, giving her a rose, a foot massage, and a little gift.
In 7th grade, I decided I had to start acting like a girl instead of a tomboy. My next menstrual remembrance was as a 10th grader who had a gymnastics meet -- and my period. I locked myself in the bathroom and tried for an hour to get a tampon into my vagina. "Tampax" was the only kind available in those days and my mom used super sized ones after having five kids. Mom offered to help but I was too embarrassed, so embarrassed that I gave up and wore a pad under my leotard, which was humiliating.
Since before she was three years old my daughter noticed when I had my moon blood. She knew early that when she became a woman she would have moon bloods too and that it meant that she could grow a baby in her. One day, she was singing one of her hundreds of variations of "Mary has a little lamb.." It was "Mary has her moon blood." At age 7 1/2 she said," Some women call their moon blood their period, so it doesn't sound so gross." When she began her periods I wanted to give a blessing party-- "but, Mom~" and it was too wierd and embarassing for her-- so I did a simple ceremony, giving her a rose, a foot massage, and a little gift.
How My Daughter Came Into My Life
It’s 1987. I’ve been dating Gaunt Murdock for about 3 years now. We’ve lived together for awhile and we’re in a comfortable loving place with each other. I’m 34, he’s 24 and my son Julien is 7.
We’re relaxing in each other’s arms and I hear a child’s voice say “This isn’t my real father. You have to go find my real father.” Whoa! Too surprising, yet in my heart I know it’s absolutely true. I’ve been longing for another child and Gaunt isn’t ready for that. And he might not be until I’m too old to be pregnant again.
The reality of our age difference becomes painful. “Love is not enough” becomes theme for writing in my journal. We’re just out of phase in our life paths. So after contemplating that voice for awhile I know I have to follow it, for my sake, that child’s sake, and even for Gaunt’s sake. In this way he too would be able to find a partner who was in phase with his younger life. So I begin the gentle, slow pulling away process. I move into my own apartment so I have the space to explore other relationships. I suggest we start dating other people. And I begin, looking for the “real father” of my next child.
There are definite side tracks now and then. One gentle and thoughtful man had already had a vasectomy – so we are out of phase. Though I knew I could love him I broke it off to continue my quest for the “real father.” I told my spirit child, “You’d better help arrange this from your side too.”
Halloween night, when the veil is thin between the spirit and mortal worlds, the moon is full. The original plan was that Gaunt, Julien and I would go to a potluck and party at a friend’s house. But Julien begs to go trick or treating and then stay overnight at his buddy Anson’s house. Then Gaunt calls to say he has the flu so needs to stay home but that he’s heard there’s a fun dance at Naropa. He encourages me to go to, knowing how much I love to dance.
Suddenly I feel like someone in West Side Story—singing out loud as I dress--
"It’s only just out of reach, Down the block, on a beach, Under a tree. I got a feelin’ there’s a miracle due, Gonna come true, Comin’ to me! Could it be? Yes, it could. Something’s coming, something’ good, If I can wait! Something’s comin’, I don’t know what it is But it is Gonna be great! With a click, with a shock, Phone’ll jingle, door’ll knock Open the latch! Something’s comin’, don’t know when, But it’s soon-- Catch the moon, One-handed catch! Around the corner, Or whistling’ down the river, Come on -- deliver To me! Will it be? Yes, it will. Maybe just by holdin’ still It’ll be there! Come on, something’, come on in, Don’t be shy, Meet a guy, Pull up a chair! The air is hummin’, And something’ great is comin’!" Who knows? It’s only just out of reach, Down the block, on a beach. Maybe tonight.
I put on my traditional Halloween costume as a gypsy. Excitement fills me—is it just the full moon, the chance to dance, or someone I am about to meet?
I live downtown so I walk in the clear, warm night to the Boulder Mall. There were some groups and individuals wandering around the Mall. Their strange and exotic costumes further build the sense of going into a new reality. I sashay my gypsy way up and down the Mall and then head to Naropa. I’m the first one to arrive at the dance and when I enter the empty gym I wonder a bit if I am dreaming. This evening is surreal.
People begin arriving, the music starts and I dance around the floor. I’m checking out everyone, to see where the “real father “ pull might be. I whisper to my soul baby, “Show me, so I know for sure.”
Then I see a group dancing together, a couple of women with three guys. The most assertive of the group is attractive to me immediately. But my heart warns me that with him it would be short lived and unfruitful. Then I see Charlie, dancing in the shadow of Mr. Personality. He’s tall and slender, with a T-shirt and mask decorated with stars and a moon. I begin flirting with him from afar. I vow to myself that he must come to me, making the first move. That would be the sign.
All too soon I hear one of his friends say that they’re leaving to go to the L. A. Diner. The man dressed in the night sky seems torn, and starts to leave with them. At this I go lean against the wall, a bit discouraged. But he quickly returns and comes directly over to me.
“Hi, I’m Charlie. Would you like to dance with me?”
I smiled. “Sure. My name’s Terra.”
“Oh and can you give me a ride later. My friends left me here so I could dance some more.”
“Yeah, of course.”
We dance for about half an hour and then leave to get my car and meet his friends at the Diner. He laughs as I start my rusty, orange Toyota by vigorously pumping and pumping the gas petal. I joke, “My car, Joe, always makes me jerk him off before he’ll take me where I want to go.”
At the Diner we run into his friends just before they leave. They invite me to dinner at their house tomorrow night. Charlie and I hang out longer, talking and talking. We’re surrounded by clowns, axe murderers, fairies, nuns, and uncountable other strange beings. The waiters and waitresses roll by on their roller skates, trays precariously balancing.
When I drive Charlie home and drop him off, he gives me a sweet friendly kiss and makes sure that I’m planning to come to the dinner party the next evening.
Charlie hadn’t mentioned that he already had another date for the party. It’s a bit awkward when she & I realized that we are both supposed to be his date. When I take him aside, he confesses that she’d been a blind date set up long before but he really wants to be with me.
That was the beginning of my relationship with Alana’s real father.
A week later we dance together after an intimate day of hiking and talking. We both want a child and soon. We dance to Tina Turner. I have a very transcendent feeling of oneness with Charlie and experience the spiritual conception of our daughter.
We are engaged that Christmas. Ever practical, Charlie gives me a car instead of an engagement ring. We celebrate our marriage April 20- Beltane, another pagan holy day. At our rustic wedding outside in a field, surrounded by flowers and friends, we have an ostrich egg on our altar to symbolize our child to come.
We immediately give up using birth control. Each month feels like I’m pregnant, and each month my period comes and it’s like having a miscarriage. Each birth I attend as a midwife I half-jokingly ask, “ Are you sure you want this baby – and if not, could I have it?
One fall night after teaching my midwifery class I feel exhausted. Yet this is that time of the month to try again. I am fertile. When we make love that night, something is different. I have a vision—first I see fireworks, then two dolphins, leaping out of the water together. Then I see a child’s face- morphing back and forth between a girl and boy.
I keep this in my heart—it was too unusual, too private. I feel pregnant again—yet the pain of past times makes me too anxious to look at the little pregnancy test stick to see what it says. I make Charlie look. It’s Positive! Our dream is coming true!
We’re relaxing in each other’s arms and I hear a child’s voice say “This isn’t my real father. You have to go find my real father.” Whoa! Too surprising, yet in my heart I know it’s absolutely true. I’ve been longing for another child and Gaunt isn’t ready for that. And he might not be until I’m too old to be pregnant again.
The reality of our age difference becomes painful. “Love is not enough” becomes theme for writing in my journal. We’re just out of phase in our life paths. So after contemplating that voice for awhile I know I have to follow it, for my sake, that child’s sake, and even for Gaunt’s sake. In this way he too would be able to find a partner who was in phase with his younger life. So I begin the gentle, slow pulling away process. I move into my own apartment so I have the space to explore other relationships. I suggest we start dating other people. And I begin, looking for the “real father” of my next child.
There are definite side tracks now and then. One gentle and thoughtful man had already had a vasectomy – so we are out of phase. Though I knew I could love him I broke it off to continue my quest for the “real father.” I told my spirit child, “You’d better help arrange this from your side too.”
Halloween night, when the veil is thin between the spirit and mortal worlds, the moon is full. The original plan was that Gaunt, Julien and I would go to a potluck and party at a friend’s house. But Julien begs to go trick or treating and then stay overnight at his buddy Anson’s house. Then Gaunt calls to say he has the flu so needs to stay home but that he’s heard there’s a fun dance at Naropa. He encourages me to go to, knowing how much I love to dance.
Suddenly I feel like someone in West Side Story—singing out loud as I dress--
"It’s only just out of reach, Down the block, on a beach, Under a tree. I got a feelin’ there’s a miracle due, Gonna come true, Comin’ to me! Could it be? Yes, it could. Something’s coming, something’ good, If I can wait! Something’s comin’, I don’t know what it is But it is Gonna be great! With a click, with a shock, Phone’ll jingle, door’ll knock Open the latch! Something’s comin’, don’t know when, But it’s soon-- Catch the moon, One-handed catch! Around the corner, Or whistling’ down the river, Come on -- deliver To me! Will it be? Yes, it will. Maybe just by holdin’ still It’ll be there! Come on, something’, come on in, Don’t be shy, Meet a guy, Pull up a chair! The air is hummin’, And something’ great is comin’!" Who knows? It’s only just out of reach, Down the block, on a beach. Maybe tonight.
I put on my traditional Halloween costume as a gypsy. Excitement fills me—is it just the full moon, the chance to dance, or someone I am about to meet?
I live downtown so I walk in the clear, warm night to the Boulder Mall. There were some groups and individuals wandering around the Mall. Their strange and exotic costumes further build the sense of going into a new reality. I sashay my gypsy way up and down the Mall and then head to Naropa. I’m the first one to arrive at the dance and when I enter the empty gym I wonder a bit if I am dreaming. This evening is surreal.
People begin arriving, the music starts and I dance around the floor. I’m checking out everyone, to see where the “real father “ pull might be. I whisper to my soul baby, “Show me, so I know for sure.”
Then I see a group dancing together, a couple of women with three guys. The most assertive of the group is attractive to me immediately. But my heart warns me that with him it would be short lived and unfruitful. Then I see Charlie, dancing in the shadow of Mr. Personality. He’s tall and slender, with a T-shirt and mask decorated with stars and a moon. I begin flirting with him from afar. I vow to myself that he must come to me, making the first move. That would be the sign.
All too soon I hear one of his friends say that they’re leaving to go to the L. A. Diner. The man dressed in the night sky seems torn, and starts to leave with them. At this I go lean against the wall, a bit discouraged. But he quickly returns and comes directly over to me.
“Hi, I’m Charlie. Would you like to dance with me?”
I smiled. “Sure. My name’s Terra.”
“Oh and can you give me a ride later. My friends left me here so I could dance some more.”
“Yeah, of course.”
We dance for about half an hour and then leave to get my car and meet his friends at the Diner. He laughs as I start my rusty, orange Toyota by vigorously pumping and pumping the gas petal. I joke, “My car, Joe, always makes me jerk him off before he’ll take me where I want to go.”
At the Diner we run into his friends just before they leave. They invite me to dinner at their house tomorrow night. Charlie and I hang out longer, talking and talking. We’re surrounded by clowns, axe murderers, fairies, nuns, and uncountable other strange beings. The waiters and waitresses roll by on their roller skates, trays precariously balancing.
When I drive Charlie home and drop him off, he gives me a sweet friendly kiss and makes sure that I’m planning to come to the dinner party the next evening.
Charlie hadn’t mentioned that he already had another date for the party. It’s a bit awkward when she & I realized that we are both supposed to be his date. When I take him aside, he confesses that she’d been a blind date set up long before but he really wants to be with me.
That was the beginning of my relationship with Alana’s real father.
A week later we dance together after an intimate day of hiking and talking. We both want a child and soon. We dance to Tina Turner. I have a very transcendent feeling of oneness with Charlie and experience the spiritual conception of our daughter.
We are engaged that Christmas. Ever practical, Charlie gives me a car instead of an engagement ring. We celebrate our marriage April 20- Beltane, another pagan holy day. At our rustic wedding outside in a field, surrounded by flowers and friends, we have an ostrich egg on our altar to symbolize our child to come.
We immediately give up using birth control. Each month feels like I’m pregnant, and each month my period comes and it’s like having a miscarriage. Each birth I attend as a midwife I half-jokingly ask, “ Are you sure you want this baby – and if not, could I have it?
One fall night after teaching my midwifery class I feel exhausted. Yet this is that time of the month to try again. I am fertile. When we make love that night, something is different. I have a vision—first I see fireworks, then two dolphins, leaping out of the water together. Then I see a child’s face- morphing back and forth between a girl and boy.
I keep this in my heart—it was too unusual, too private. I feel pregnant again—yet the pain of past times makes me too anxious to look at the little pregnancy test stick to see what it says. I make Charlie look. It’s Positive! Our dream is coming true!
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