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The Spiritual Significance of the Placenta

Klara Miller

Written by Andrea Takacs-Carvalho
Photograph by Meghan Harlow

The moment a baby is born a mother is also born, since the woman who birthed was initiated in a sacred ceremony; she is not the same maiden who carried the baby in her womb. In that moment she experienced a Rite of Passage - a physical and Spiritual transition that changed her core and her identity. In preparation for this process, her body already loved that baby so much that she created a full organ from scratch to sustain the baby’s life - the placenta: a sacred organ that supports and develops new Life, and the fetus’ only source of food, blood, oxygen, and nutrients. That powerful woman sacrificed her own substance so that Life would pass on to another. She then discovers her own strength when she births her baby and the placenta, and indubitably also herself, in the most memorable experience of her life. In that same moment the placenta completes its cycle and dies to allow the baby’s first independent breath.

Traditions from several cultures have been treating the placenta with respect and admiration for its accomplishment and meaning, and many cultures around the world have specific ceremonies for handling it - a strong contrast to how Western medicine treats placentas as human waste. In gratitude for the gift of fertility and the birth of the baby, most cultures respectfully bury the placenta, returning the nutrients and its sacred energy back to Mother Earth, the creator of all physical life. Chinese culture has been carefully treating and using placentas for thousands of years, acknowledging its intrinsic nutritional value by preparing the placenta for consumption. The practice of ingesting pills with the mother’s placenta that has been cooked, dehydrated, ground up, and placed into capsules is called placenta encapsulation. After birth, the woman’s body undergoes drastic changes in hormones, organs shift, blood levels decrease, and more; the placenta contains hormones that can ease the postpartum period, improve milk supply, and even prevent postpartum depression. I chose to have my son’s placenta encapsulated, and it effectively aided me during postpartum recovery, especially because I experienced hemorrhaging after a procedure called cord traction. If consuming the placenta doesn’t align with you, you can still bring it home and perform a burial ceremony, or at least do a respectful disposal filled with intentions for healing.

Art by Stepha Lawson @DoulaScienceAndSoul

Art by Stepha Lawson @DoulaScienceAndSoul

Many traditions believe that placentas have their own spirit, and the known rituals created to care for them indicate the existence of an energetic body of the organ. Similarly to how our bodies store sentiments in specific places of our anatomy, the placenta also holds rich emotional and spiritual stories. The placenta is part of the consciousness of the whole mother-baby unit; therefore, the emotional and physical shift caused by the experience of giving birth may cause women to feel a genuine sense of loss of literally giving part of themselves for new life to exist. This feeling may be mistakenly masked by the euphoria of finally embracing the newborn, yet, it indeed becomes imprinted on the mother’s soul. Placenta burying rituals have the power to create closure of the pre-birth physical connection, and end any potential unhealthy emotional dependence between mother and child. It can be even more powerful and meaningful when done in conjunction with a milestone, such as a blessing, a birthday, or the return of menstruation. The ritual is so important that it can be done with the capsules if the placenta was treated, or alternatively without the placenta if the organ is not available to the mother. In place of the placenta, the mother can create a fabric pouch and fill it with items representing the emotions and memories of her childbirth experience.

Creating a ritual to show gratitude for the child’s life, and surrender for our limitations as mothers, has a long-term healing impact on the baby, the mother, and their lineage.
 

5 New Year’s Sexual Resolutions That Will Blow Your Mind

Klara Miller

Written by Juliet Allen    Illustrated by Tina Maria Elena

It’s that time of the year again, that time when we begin to think about what we want to bring into the new year … and what we want to leave behind. It’s a powerful time; a time to reflect on how our sexuality has impacted our lives over the last year. It’s a time where we get a chance to let go of limiting belief systems and manifest new ways of being within our sexuality as empowered women.

I myself have had a year of crazy, sexual exploration and for the first time I’ve dived deep into the world of Kundalini and Tantra. This way of living and loving has completely and utterly blown my mind, and my outlook on life in general has shifted dramatically (not to mention the energetic orgasms I’ve been experiencing simply by using breath, sound and movement).

Over the festive season I encourage you to think about what experiences you want to bring into 2017 and then manifest those simply by meditating on them over the New Year. Here are 5 New Year’s sexual resolutions to get you kick started:

Cleanse your bedroom and create a space for intimacy and exploration

Our bedroom is a sacred space, and there’s nothing worse than cluttering the bedroom with yucky energy and material possessions. I recommend doing a good clean out of this space, both energetically and physically. This will encourage new sexual energy to flow freely and new magic to appear in your life in the new year.

Explore tantra and take sex to a whole new level

Tantra is choosing with awareness what gives us joy. Tantra is seeing the body as the true temple. Tantra is being totally present yet totally out of control. In my mind, tantra is a portal into a joyful life and orgasmic daily experience. Tantra takes sex to a whole new level that is indescribable! Make time in 2017 to explore tantra and introduce it into your lovemaking. 

Use eye gazing and practice fucking each other solely with your eyes for at least an hour each week

Eye gazing is a powerful practice that involves literally looking into each other’s eyes and exchanging energy. It’s possible to have full body orgasms just by using this simple exercise (and of course having the right sexual connection with a lover/beloved). Spend time just eye gazing, without the intent of touching each other or reaching orgasm. You’ll surprise yourself just how powerful this experience can be.

Get yourself a rose quartz pleasure wand

This year I purchased my very first rose quartz pleasure wand (aka dildo), and it’s seriously the best dildo I have every come across. I love how it energetically fucks me and love that it’s so natural and grounding. If you want to explore self-pleasure with the intent of increasing self-love, I can’t recommend a rose quartz pleasure wand more highly.

If you’re in a relationship, commit to ‘date night’ once a week

‘Date night’ could save your relationship. So many couples fall into the ‘too busy’ excuse, and all of a sudden the sex and intimacy disappear. Committing to a regular date night gives you the opportunity to reconnect during a busy week and spend time together without phones, kids and work commitments.

 

Standing Rock Medical and Wellness Space

Klara Miller

Written by Standing Rock Volunteer Sarah Matuszak

My journey to Standing Rock was riddled with anxiety, doubt, and even fear. For weeks before I travelled to camp, my heart was called to Standing Rock. I researched the resistance, I lit candles, I prayed. I had vivid dreams about Standing Rock. I cried for Standing Rock. But I was held back by many things, the greatest of these being my vocation. Before I made the decision to stand with my brothers and sisters, I was working full time for my local sheriff's department. Yes, you heard that right, I was them. I was hopelessly lost. And even more dire - I was losing the battle for my soul.

One day, I walked into work with a letter. "Effective immediately, I am no longer an employee of **** county." I walked out with a weight sitting on my chest. I was quite sure that during the drive home I would have to pull over to vomit.

The next day, I set out early in the morning for Cannon Ball, North Dakota. My jeep was jam packed with supplies and motivational mantras. I arrived to camp 13 hours later in the dark and alone - knowing no one. Now, I know that for the first time in 22 years, I am home.

What I have come to realize during my time here is that it doesn't matter where you come from or what you bring. If you are called to camp, just show up. I was invited by the elders to speak about my former life as a law enforcement officer. I shared my truth as my voice shook and tears rolled down my face. The ceremonies and the prayers at camp called to my soul and eventually ended up in my arrival. My brothers and sisters spoke to my heart from 1,000 miles away and called me home. The power here is a deep vibrational hum reverberating throughout the world and throughout history.

I am forever grateful for everyone who was at camp before me, who had the wisdom to wake me up from my nightmare. A little over a month ago, I was a monster- a danger to myself and everyone I met. Today I stand with all of my relatives, with a full heart and an open mind. Now wrapped in a protective cloak of sage and blessings, I am a proud water protector who was saved by a family I didn't even know I had.

Overview of the Medics Work

The Standing Rock medical / wellness space is held by a group of about 30 individuals who are determined to come together to provide comprehensive care for all individuals occupying the three camps. The medical space includes a mental health area, a body work area, an herbalist space, the Western Medicine space, and midwifery. Certifications of volunteers here include MD, DO, PhD, PA, Nurse, Paramedic, EMT, Midwife, Doula, and Wilderness Medic. This space is truly one of a kind because skilled practitioners from all over the world have come together to serve the needs of the Standing Rock community.

There are two main functions of the Standing Rock medics. The first is to provide clinical and routine care for daily wellness needs such as vitamins, over the counter medicine, diabetes management, asthma management, and minor illness relief. The second function is to be the first line of care during direct action where we have treated hypothermia, severe lacerations, internal bleeding, concussions, and broken bones - all injuries suffered at the hand of law enforcement.

We are centered on consent-culture, a holistic wellness approach, and patient rights.

A Day in the Life of the Medics

A normal day as a Standing Rock medic looks like deep love, unconditional service, education, and digging in. Our days start at approximately 5:45am. The sacred fire burns with intense magic as an elder coaxes us out of bed - err, off our cots. "Good morning relatives, it's time to get up", he encourages. The chilly morning air smells of sage and cedar. We dress quickly, suck down some coffee, and eat a light breakfast.

Someone from the medic team begins managing the ger (Mongolian indigenous word for yurt) by organizing supplies, inventorying donations, and double checking volunteer coverage for the next 24 hours at all three wellness locations.

Another medic begins the trek around camp to wipe down all the port-o-potties. Yup, hospital-grade disinfectant for the toilet seats, and door handles. The first step of getting people well is keeping them from getting sick.

Two or three more medics (per ger) standby to treat patients. Generally in the morning there are many blood pressure checks, blood sugar readings, and nebulizer treatments to alleviate asthma symptoms.

At noon we begin to educate. First up is medic orientation. New volunteers get a chance to plug in with our space, share their knowledge, and contribute to the wellness of Standing Rock. At 1:00, we invite all of our relatives to attend chemical weapon training which teaches them how to handle mace and pepper spray, as well as how to flush out the eyes of someone who has been exposed. At 2:00, there is direct action training for anyone who is considering going to the front lines to protect the water. Direct action training involves learning passive, peaceful, and prayerful technique. This training breaks down expectations and replaces them with reality and the experiences of people who have been on many direct actions.

From 3:00 until sundown, the medics who are not assigned to a wellness space for the day do chores. We wash dishes, do laundry, cook, clean, check on the elders, chop firewood, and restock supplies. Generally, once the sun sets, a relative from one of the kitchens will bring us something to eat. They take such good care of us because they know that we will spend all day working - giving little thought to food. We eat, we laugh, we love each other so hard. We remind each other of the good work done during the day and the hard work that will meet us in the morning. We share stories and prophecies as old as language itself. We ensure that all of the medic staff is keeping their inner flame lit and well-kindled.

When love hangs thick in the air like smoke, and the number of patients filing in for care begins to dwindle, two or three medics set up their cots in order to hold the space for the night. We keep the fire hot, and the light on so that anyone who needs care, or even just to talk, during the night can come in and join us.

Where the money goes

All money raised during this auction will go directly to the medics of Standing Rock. We are so blessed to have many supporters and donations but it is unbelievable how fast supplies go. In two months, camp has bloomed from approximately 2,000 people to over 15,000 people. During an intense action such as what was seen on Sunday 11/20, we go through the majority of our medical stores. On this one day, we went through over 300 pairs of goggles, 150 bandanas, 100 packs of gauze, 200 water bottles, 100 bottles of milk of magnesia, 200 bandages, and a myriad of suture, splinting, and stabilizing supplies. That was all in a 6 hour period. It is because of generous donors that we are able to supply water protectors who are going to the front lines, and that we can care for them when they are injured by the police. I am so grateful that I have never had to deny someone excellent care due to shortage of supplies, and your support ensures that it will never happen. Anyone who needs help will get it.

The money raised this week by TRIBE de MAMA will ensure that the medics have a sufficient amount of goggles, bandanas, eye flushing materials, and trauma supplies to get through the cold months ahead. With police promising to ramp up aggression toward protectors, we in the medic tent are braced for impact.

Please help our response to their violence be rapid and effective by participating in this auction.

The transformation of my grief

Klara Miller

Written by Michelle Watson     Art by Sofia Bonati

On her first birthday I was at work and my boss’s son walked into the room. The face my boss made when he saw his son brought me to my knees. That was it. I could not get up. I cried in the middle of work and did not stop. I was never in a place where I did not want to live, I was just in a place of unbelievable despair, where I did not know if I could survive it. I was heartbroken. It hurt to breathe. My family decided I should seek help. They weren’t sure of how to handle the situation. I could not look anywhere without being reminded of her. I dug her lavender blanket out, the one thing we brought for her to be wrapped in, I slept with it and I cried.  I was broken in half. I was grief stricken and not prepared for it. I had no idea it was coming. At least, I had no idea my mind would feel like it snapped me in half. I had no idea that was possible. It was a normal day at work, it was her first birthday but I did not allow myself to think about that. Everything seemed fine except for the fact that the lump in my throat was building from the moment I opened my eyes that morning. And eventually, it broke me.

Our minds are truly incredible. Time is truly incredible. We heal, we grow, we learn, we see and feel. We love. I never respected it. I never respected the true force of mind, body and soul. It does not forget and on her first birthday I had no choice but to grieve. It took over and I was given no choice. None.

I was so alone in this grief, I resented everyone around me for not understanding it. How could they? It was not their fault. There is no timeline for this. We have evolved to where grief is expected to be swift and acutely painful. Not much time should be wasted grieving because everything goes on. Life goes on. Everything is done at a fast rate of speed and so human minds and emotions should be able to keep up.  We will see someone grieving and immediately apply the loss to ourselves and how we would handle it better. We have become so disconnected in a world that will grow from human connection. I was expected to be over it by now and no one really wanted to deal with the pain again so, I was outcasted. I was sent away for a week to “heal” at a facility. I had a mental breakdown and “PTSD”. That is what I was told. I gave birth to my daughter in a very traumatic way. I had prepared, and in that preparation for her birth I thought I was also grieving. I was not. I did not heal that week away. I was surrounded by people who were also grieving, or lonely, or lost, and I did not heal. I didn’t. I left pretending to have it together and decided I would take a break. I was really running away. I ran away as far as possibly could.

I decided to pack my bags and go to the place of my birth, Ecuador. I would stay with my grandparents, Abuelos, in the same house they have been in since I was born. I had friends there from going back and forth growing up, I had some money available. I ran away as fast as I could from the painful place I called home. I did not know, I would leave calling Ecuador “home.” I did not know how drastically my life was really changing.

I had no permanent plans. I told myself I would get a job as a makeup artist, start working, living and growing there. I arrived in such a pitiful state, I just wanted to be distracted. I went out with friends and made new ones. I watched the same telenovela with my Abuelitos every night. My spanish was improving every day. I went to the same tienda at the end of the road, where the guard would meet me and escort me to get a pack of cigarettes and my favorite soda. I would sit on the white balcony of my abuelitos house and talk to my abuelito while he read the paper, I would play soccer with the kids in the street. I started talking to a tenant who lived in an apartment my Abuelos leased out. I began to have a routine even though I did not realize it. I would wake up, guard, tienda, kids and wait for the tenant to get home so we could hang out. I would go and get my hair blow dried because it was a thing to do and it was cheap and it made my hair feel incredible. I would spend weekends with my friends and the week days with my Abuelitos.  I would check in with Houston. I would speak with my ex.

We spoke quite often, actually. We both knew we could not be together. We had been through too much. Two months after the loss of our daughter, my fiance’s dearest and closest friend, passed away from cancer. My fiance's father was plagued with Parkinson’s Disease, worsening every day. We were surrounded by death. That was too much. We were 25 years old. We had been together on and off since we were 18. We were broken, but somehow very strongly connected. So, we checked in. We did not need to know what was going on at either end of the world, all we wanted to do is hear each others voice. We were the only two people in the world that would understand each other from what we had been through. We had to grieve, but separately. He also needed to grieve. We were no longer 18, and life had hit us tragically fast.

One of my final weekends in Ecuador we went to a small beach town called, Montanita. Everyone had told me that this is the place I needed to go to  before I returned to Houston. My money was running out and I knew I would have to make a move soon. We pulled into Mama Cucha Hostel and we were greeted by a man they called, “El Colorado.” There were hammocks and bamboo staircases. I remember someone making the joke that the “gringa”, me, needed the room with the AC unit. I also remember El Colorado’s abuelita coming out saying someone had stolen her marijuana plants that she uses to make her arthritis gel with. When I heard that I thought to myself, “Where am I? These places really do exist” It seemed staged, almost. It was truly beautiful. It was a place that took control of your senses, the musicians playing on the streets were amplified and the smiles on everyone’s faces were wider, the food was better, the alcohol was stronger. Everything was amplified in the most beautiful way.

On one of our last days there, it was decided my friends would take me and a guy from NYC on a boat to see the cliff sides. They told us, it would be the closest thing we can get to the Galapagos. Scenery wise.

El Colorado drove. We drove up and down hills covered in trees. Everywhere I looked there was greenery. It was a long ride but it was beautiful. We arrived to our destination and there was a blue boat, beached on the shore waiting for us. We all climbed aboard and took to the ocean. Within minutes we were nowhere near shore and surrounded by clear water. I would look to the right of the boat and see huge cliff sides. I would see years and years of change and evolution. Time was imprinted all over these cliffs and colors changed along with texture. It was something else. It was a stunning.

I had a moment on this blue boat that I can only describe as a cliche movie montage. Everyone was jumping into the frigid water and swimming to the shore of a rocky sand bed, and in the middle of the ocean on a blue boat, I had a montage.

I went through images of the day I gave birth to my daughter. I went through the phone conversations I had with my ex. I remember thinking back to the people who had touching things to say or do for me after we lost the baby. I thought of the tree that we buried her ashes in and wondered if she was ok. I wondered if she was being watered enough. I thought of myself and how I arrived at this place broken. My desperate attempt to stay away from Houston was fading away and anxiety quickly took it's place. I had to go back. I had to start my life again. I had to do it right. I was picturing myself working, dating, traveling. It was time to grow up. It all hit me at once. I could hear my friends screaming in the cold water while they ran to the shore and I just stared out into the ocean and felt incredibly small. I was so tiny in comparison to the world and all the wonders it has to offer. I would always mourn the ones I loved. I will always think of my daughter and honor the time I had with her. I had let it hurt me and break me, but without even realizing it, it was healing me. She healed me. Ecuador healed me. I, healed me. Time, healed me. People, loved me. Friends, laughed with me. I did not run away to Ecuador, I came to evolve in Ecuador. I came to grieve and mourn and grow. The whole time, the purpose of my stay there was growth and I had no idea, none, until I stood there in the middle of the ocean. Life, real life, sinking into me. I evolved in minutes. The work up to this incredible realization was a year and a couple of months but the actual moment was minutes. Surrounded by evolution, I evolved, on a blue boat.

The one most miraculous and beautiful thing about writing this, looking back and going through all of this again and again in my writing is that I see her more. She was there the entire time. Even when I thought I was running, I was growing. I was healing. I was grieving. I was evolving. This was the moment my grief officially transformed me.

 

Connect with the Author through her blog HERE , and with the Artist HERE

Late Bloomer- Thoughts on a Second Miscarriage

Klara Miller

It was there and then it wasn’t. But when it was there, it filled my consciousness completely. This embryo or fetus, who both this time and last, I immediately and spontaneously called Baby-San. There are many websites that compare the growing baby to seeds and fruits, we cherished tenderly the sesame seed, the apple seed, the sweet pea, and the blueberry, after which only silence came.

A miscarriage is filled with ironies, that something so incredibly tiny can have so much force, reverberating through your whole body and soul like the rays of an internal sun. You talk (and in my case also sing) to something which does not have ears, you fantasize about the gender and therefore the names and qualities of a creature who still looks like an amphibian. You are supposed to restrain from telling people, even though it is precisely the first trimester that brings up the most fears, and has the most chance of miscarriage of any other time in the pregnancy, and therefore leaves the mother most in need of support.

But most poignant of all, you begin to care for tenderly- not quite love, but something which the particles of love are made of- this tiny creature who is not even yet fully human. The baby at this stage is all potential, all hope, like a tiny spring that has not yet uncoiled. And most excitedly, you the mother (and the father) are also filled with potential. It is taking YOU on a ride, YOU it’s host. On its journey into being born, you as the adult are about to be re-born. Life as you know it will change irrevocably, and in all aspects and corners, there is nothing that will not be touched by the baby.

And so, a mother to be, especially a new mother, spends a great deal of time fantasizing. What are the prenatal and postnatal mom groups, and what will the women and community be like? What will birth feel like, will the pain be worse than I think, or just as bad? Will I go through it naturally or take an epidural? What will my baby look like, feel like, sound like? Will he/she be kind? What gifts will they have, those from one of their parents, or something entirely new? What will it be like to breastfeed? What will it feel like when tiny fingers hold one of my own? And then the later years: daycare, school and puberty, what will it be like when my child pushes me away in their own crucial need for independence? What kind of man or woman will my child be? Will they do good in the world? That is all I hope for, their benevolence and generosity of spirit.

Every playground I passed during those 6 weeks gave me pause. I could see my child playing in them, could see myself both bored and happy at the sweet routines of life, would know that the joy in my child’s face over simple pleasures would light up my own.

But none of this  ever happened, and in one day, all the dreams and fantasies, all that potential, all that hope, all that tenderness, like the frail puffs of white down in dandelions that have turned to seed, is gone, dashed, eliminated, ceases to be. For this little seedling, this tiny blueberry whose development you were utterly charmed by many times per day, dies inside you.

This therefore, is no ordinary death. Most deaths we know take place outside us, the one we know and love so well, the father, friend, lover, whose every expression we know so intimately, leaves life, and leaves us in their absence. And in the wake of their sudden non-being, we are left to grapple with the simplest and most painful fact on earth, which every religion since the beginning of time has ever wrestled with; that things die.

But this death hits the mother in a very different way. It is not the death of someone known and beloved, it is the death of someone you didn't know, couldn’t know, wanted more than anything to know. The death of a mystery. The death of an unknown joy. The death of a potential, of a presence, someone who’s being could not even whisper inside you, and yet whose presence was truly like a radiating sun.

There was one day a week ago when I realized I was already a mother. I came home excitedly and told Girish what I felt, that I was already a mother, and he already a father. That the baby didn’t have to come out of me and have me attend to it’s needs, to be assigned the role of “mother.” It was not something I needed to earn. I was already mothering something deep inside me, I was nourishing it with my blood and my breath, sending it prayers of encouragement, housing it inside my womb. I was its mother. No one else was. It was creation pure and simple, the great cycle of life, which finally, at 44,  I was stepping into and stepping into willingly. This was not my first pregnancy, but the only one I had truly wanted to embrace.

Being pregnant this summer made me so aware of the gift of maybe, finally being able to step into the flow of normal adult life, having a FAMILY, creating a family, being normal like my other friends who have crossed over into normal lives. Yes, very much through the portal of creating that all pervasive cultural unit- The Family. What is a family? What would it be like to have one? The one I had was so noxious, hurtful and crushing to my spirit, that even at the age of 8 I wanted to flee it and wondered about the questionable bond of blood ties. What would it be like to make a family filled with love, respect, creativity, affection, support, fun, humor and kindness? My darling child, what would it have been like to hold your gentle hand? Even the boredom and exhaustion, what would it have been like?

At 44, my age staring at me in the face with eyes as expressionless as a vast gray sky, I know now that I very likely may never know any of this. Two miscarriages in one year have brought the knowledge home hard. I am too old, and although still fertile, too many of my eggs are not healthy enough to create a subsequently healthy life. I sit here knowing that my last fertile years were spent with 2 beautiful men, one who I didn’t want to have a child with, and one who I did, and yet he did not want to, a big part of our separating after over 4 years together. I sit here knowing that the unfurling of my life, choices I made and choices I didn't, brought me to my current partner, a man born on the other side of the world who would have brought the genes of India into this baby, this beautiful man I most likely met too late in my life for family. Yes, we are both fertile and I am getting pregnant, but 2 embryos died, and how many more will, if I even have the strength to keep trying and miscarrying until one egg, a good strong egg, makes its way down at just the right time? And so I sit here plainly seeing the arc of my life, from childhood family to now, knowing there may never be another family that I get to discover and create, in a new and tender way with someone I deeply love and trust.

Instead of potential and hope, the prismatic rays of a radiating sun from within, I feel empty. Empty, barren and stripped of the spark of magic, and the feeling of having been anointed by life, of being part of the river and fabric of life; the unity of being part of the cycle of life, not just a bystander to it.

I miss you Baby-San. I miss the way you inhabited all of my days with me. It is so very hard to wake up now, knowing immediately upon waking, that you are no longer there; that I am not 2 but 1, and how foolish you were to take yourself out of the potential of all that you were to be, all that we were to do together. I am no longer on that journey my bright star, fallen prince or princess, and if I think of how tenderly I would have cared for you, it is far too much to bear and my brain shuts down into silence.

I don't want to be sentimental and thank you for letting me experience motherhood for a few short weeks, because now where there was an ember, an apple seed, the fluttering of a bumblebee, there is nothing; and I get the fine experience of watching you, Mr./Mrs. Hope, get flushed down the toilet in clots of blood and tissue. Refuse.

No, I don't thank you for that. Luckily I’m well versed with grief, longing and absence, and so I will let the hole get filled up one sand grain at a time, while I am awake and while I sleep. And if I am lucky, one day I will be able to put this into song, fold up your red tissue and my grief, the tenderness, and dreams of your unknown face as if seen behind a thick pane of glass, and send it away into the air.


Connect with the Author through social media HERE and with the Artist HERE