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{Originally written for Instagram, heading into the last weekend in July.} For the last week and as I head into this weekend, I feel a sense of longing within. This is usually the weekend when Womyn’s Summit would be taking place, actually by this time today I’d be setting up my tent, or greeting wimyn as they arrive, or womyn-ing some setup situation that was left to the last minute. But our gathering is on hiatus for the year, resting in a cocoon, dissolving into a primal ooze, which I hope will come out the other side metamorphosed into a new version of its essence, born again, refreshed, and ready to take flight. When an online-acquaintance was inquiring in our private members group about organizing a Canadian retreat for wimyn, I found myself excited, but also filled with this longing, a longing to respond with an enthusiastic, “You should come check out OUR wimyn’s weekend! It’s the best!”, but couldn’t as I’m not sure when it will return, or what its name may be, or of what form it will take... and it pained me. That this gathering, which has touched so many lives (150 last year alone! From ALL over the world!), has opened stuck space for many wimyn, has inspired transformation, and held a safe circle for honest expressions of the experience of being a womyn in this *bananas* capitalist, individualistic, tyrannical patriarchy. I felt sad for each of the wimyn who have reached out in anticipation, feeling compelled to share some part of herself, excited to come back or join for the first time, and sad for myself and my own once wolf-pack, and current coven sisterhood, and for the cycles of life that ebb and flow us to and from people and inspirations, washing over us with cool soothing relief, or dragging us through the barrel. To all who have reached out in excited interest for Womyn’s Summit 2019 (literally since the day after Summit ended last year), I love you!! Stay tuned for new offerings and opportunities to gather coming up next year...and the year after, and forevermore... and for smaller-scale, but just as powerful, opportunities to gather as wimyn and shift our own, as well as the dominant paradigm (Like Birth Talk and Village Prenatal)! And I hope (and know!!!) there are lots of groovy wimyn out there creating new wimyn’s circles, song circles, skills-sharing days, home school co-ops, forest schools, healing retreats... so let’s all seek them out! And I feel a little less melancholy after writing this, so thanks for reading. Below are some gorgeous photos taken by Adelaide Rodgers at Womyn's Summit 2018.
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 Settle in with a good cuppa, I'm starting at the beginning... This birth story begins long before I actually gave birth to my sweet baby, Wren. This story is not separate from the experiences that led me to birth-keeping, autonomous pregnancy, wimyn’s circles, sacred sisterhood, and the goddess herself. This story is a culmination of all that was, all that is, and all that had to be. Eight years ago I enrolled in a doula training: a twelve week course offered by a volunteer doula program. This was my first introduction to birth beyond a few stories from my mother and some other female relatives, basic sex-ed in Catholic school (ha!), representations in movies and books, and a general sense from being a womyn myself. From this training I went on to volunteer and then work as a doula. All of these wimyn had doctors or licensed midwives. Some had “natural” births, some had pharmaceutical interventions, some had supportive partners and families, some were more or less on their own. I didn’t turn anyone away. I had no prerequisites to work with someone and I always worked with people’s individual budgets (if I was being paid at all). I witnessed C-sections, epidurals, nitrous oxide gas, shots of Demerol, continuous fetal monitoring, threats of timelines, medical professionals moving in and out of rooms, attempts at making sacred the hospital rooms we were assigned, sometimes apparent oblivion on the birthing woman’s part to the chaos around her, sometimes irritation from it. I witnessed joy, disappointment, fear, strength, immense love… Ultimately what I witnessed in those three years resulted in my quitting that gig. While most often these wimyn were seemingly pleased with their experiences of birth, I didn’t want to witness anymore babies being manipulated as they emerged into the world, anymore wimyn having their vaginas intruded upon by nonchalant hands, I didn’t want to witness anymore wimyn be convinced of the vulnerable doubts they expressed, I didn’t want to witness any more shift changes, fumbling students, jaded doctors, hoity nurses, or terrified partners. I was done. Or so I thought and proclaimed. *** Disclaimer: I did encounter some lovely individuals working within the medical system, but their hands were tied by protocol and hierarchy, and the vast majority of medical staff were downright irritated by any questioning of their role as an authority figure in the birth room. *** I knew in my bones that something else existed. I felt that wimyn could give birth peacefully, I suspected that there were midwives out there who completely trusted birth and babies and mothers, that there were souls being born at home surrounded by only their family and welcomed witnesses, but I didn’t know where to find it. This world didn't revealed itself to me until I was connected to a womyn now near and dear to me, a mother pregnant again, who had already given birth in peace, at home, with traditional midwives by her side, in a foreign land, and who would do so again here in my city, with help or without. And she was requesting my help now. I was called. And we all know when we’re really being called. So, I said yes. From this experience I was invited into what I had dreamed existed: a world where wimyn have help and are trusted, where wimyn are listened to and are not attached to any machines, where herbs and food are medicine, where relationship dynamics are taken into consideration, and ceremony and community are integral in prenatal care. My world became whisking away in the night to backroads and city streets throughout the province, of cleaning up birth pools and preparing simple meals, burning umbilical cords, and making breakfast, buzzing, at the end of a night of work. And then even more opened up. Wimyn’s gatherings, large and small, deepening friendships with incredible wimyn, strong wimyn, brilliant wimyn with a few babies, with lots of babies, with businesses, with small farms, with enormous opinions. Late night talks, weekends together, losses, triumphs, transitions... growth, lots of growth happened, and lots of shit disturbing was discussed, sometimes acted on, but mostly just discussed. And then finally, after learning from and alongside these wimyn for five years, I found myself with a wonderful, loving partner and pregnant. And from there it was simple. I know what the medical system is about. I know what regulated midwifery looks like. I know what “prenatal care” and birth and postpartums within that model look like. I am not interested in anything the “professionals” have to offer, so I never sought them out. I never considered an ultrasound to “prove” I was pregnant or to “confirm” my dates. I never wanted a doctor to check my blood pressure, or test my urine, or draw my blood. I felt healthy, I tracked my cycle, I hadn't bled, and my belly was changing, this was telling enough for me. I was pregnant, I’d become pregnant all on my own, and unless something unsettling arose, I knew I was fully capable of continuing to care for myself throughout my pregnancy, just as I care for myself every single day. I never considered trying to get in with the midwives (as if they’d have me) “just in case”. I certainly had no interest in involving anyone who I wasn’t already in a loving, trusting relationship with in my pregnancy and birth. I called on two of my closest friends to be by my side, wimyn who know me, know my life circumstances, know my history... not a stranger with “qualifications”. All of this just made perfect intuitive sense to me. It felt right.
I did make sure to take good care of myself. I swam, and practiced gentle yoga, and walked in the woods and on the beach. I ate a diet mostly consisting of whole foods, grown nearby (when I had an appetite), and lots of chocolate. I drank nourishing herbal infusions and bone broths as “prenatal vitamins”. I continued eating raw dairy and drinking coffee and enjoying the sweetnesses that I love. I tightened my circle; I hung out with people who fill me up, people who honoured my heightened state of sensitivity and understood when I had nothing in me to give because everything was already going into not vomiting on them (literally, not figuratively). I slept. A lot. I gathered with wimyn, and sang, and travelled, and also spent a lot of time alone. I had sex when I felt like it, and didn’t when it wasn’t appealing. I rubbed my belly all the time, and got massages, and took a million baths with heaps of epsom salts and lavender and rose oils. I meditated and talked to my baby, who was always my baby, never a fetus, and I wrote down my dreams. I had a beautiful mother blessing where friends filled my freezer with meals, and massaged me, and sang, and created beautiful art to decorate my birth room. Now, I realize a lot of this is the luxury of pregnancy without having other children to care for, but I indulged hard, because (presumably) it would never happen again. Why not enjoy it? Why not honour that by taking the best care of myself that I could?  Image captured by Rena Thomas Not that every moment of pregnancy was a complete joy (hello first trimester nausea, swinging emotions, moving homes in subzero temperatures…), but overall I felt great, mentally, physically, and spiritually, right until the end of my pregnancy. The day I went into labour was Saturday. I went to two farmers markets, and a craft show that happened to be on that weekend, and was told by numerous people, “Oh, you won’t give birth anytime soon, you’re going to be begging to have that baby, you’re too happy, walking all around town, too comfortable”. I shrugged and said, maybe she wouldn’t come for another month, maybe she’d come tomorrow. I was 39 weeks and 5 days from conception. I went home, ate a snack, made love with my husband, and afterwards felt like I had to have a bowel movement. I sat down on the toilet and felt my baby move way down in my pelvis, her whole body dropped, I think I said out loud, “whoa!” and grabbed the towel rack on the wall beside me. I didn’t have to poop, I got up, and immediately started having sensations. That first one made me pause, I carried on, five minutes later another, ouf, five minutes later again and I was on hands and knees on the living room floor while my husband packed the car to go surfing. He stopped and asked if he should still go. I said yes, because surely it would subside, it couldn’t come on this quick, right? First baby. Besides, I had dinner plans with the friends who were on-call to come to the birth and I didn’t want to cancel, and I didn’t want to dwell on early labour if that’s what it was. It was my plan to go on, live life until I absolutely couldn’t anymore. So, Sean went surfing and I was picked up by a friend and driven out to St. Margaret’s Bay to have dinner. A third friend was in town, the womyn who had welcomed me into her birth-work circle in the early days of my work. Us four wimyn hob-nobbed, ate a delicious meal, and all the while I continued to have tightening sensations across my belly. They spaced out a bit, maybe they were every seven or eight minutes apart, I wasn’t timing them, but they were steady. I started washing the dishes after dinner, I stood at the sink, still trying to pay attention to the conversation, but being pulled by the increasing intensity of my body’s sensations. I was breathing deeper, and eventually I just stopped, dried my hands, and told everyone that they should get some sleep because I’d likely be calling them that night, I couldn’t stand there anymore, I needed to focus and wanted to be in my own home. I went pee before leaving, and realized my mucus plug had come out, just a small brownish blood spot on my underwear and on the toilet paper. In that moment a few tears fell from my eyes, it was really happening, and I was a mix of scared, excited, nervous. My dear friend who had driven me out to dinner drove me home, about a thirty minute trip, and now I did watch the clock with each sensation, five minutes apart. It was harder to maintain conversation. Just breathe deeply, I thought, rub the belly, get home. As we were leaving the dinner party I had called Sean to make sure he was out of the ocean, he was almost home and going to skateboard over to a pub to grab a beer. Good thing I had called - I told him I had other plans for the night. When I arrived home it was 9:30pm and Sean was doing dishes, had laundry on the go, was tidying up the house, and making an electrolyte drink all simultaneously. I started tidying up the living room and almost immediately stopped and decided to get in the bath. The bath felt good. I totally relaxed. Everything slowed down, sensations spaced out to ten minutes apart. I love the bath, I was in my happy place. After forty minutes or so the sensations got closer together, seven minutes apart. Then six minutes apart. Then five minutes apart. I called for Sean to be by my side. He dropped all the tasks he was juggling and came and sat by the tub. By 11:30pm my sensations were fluctuating between three and four minutes apart. I had a few in a row that were two minutes apart and so strong that I was moaning loudly and feeling like I needed to change locations. I asked Sean to call the wimyn, whom I wanted present for the birth and for care afterwards, to ask them to make their way over. Even at this point I remember hoping that I wasn’t calling them too early (ha!). I got out of the tub and wanted to sit on the toilet before going to lay in bed. It was there, again, just as when I saw my mucus plug, that the emotions hit me. Sean was sitting on a stool in front of me and I broke down crying, I leaned on his shoulder, wetting his shirt with tears, and told him I was scared. I was. I didn’t know what would come, how much longer it would be, how much more intense it would get… I believe fear to be a normal emotion present in birth, but that there is a healthy fear born of reverence for the mystery, which stands in stark opposition to fear that is damaging, that stalls labours and seeds doubt. Eventually I got up and walked to my bedroom, climbed on the bed and lay on my side, wanting Sean behind, spooning me. I moaned and breathed and clenched my toes and softened my brow, and eventually started shivering. Sean covered me with a blanket and I kicked it off, I was hot. The wimyn arrived around 1am, all three who had been at the dinner party with me. I told them that I wanted to get into the birth pool and they busied themselves preparing it. I remember them each coming into my room, one at a time, sitting at my feet, rubbing them, sitting by my head breathing with me, their presence was so palpable and comforting, even with my eyes shut and my focus inward, I could feel their loving attentiveness. I tried getting into a puppy pose on the bed, I was less and less able to find any comfort. I felt nauseous and threw up a few times. The sensations were so intense and I was continuing to shiver and shake. Looking back, I suppose this was transition, but in that moment I didn’t think about “stages of labour” or “progress”, or have any “midwifey” thoughts in my mind, I was just in it, right there, trying to keep my breath steady and moan it out. When the wimyn told me the pool was ready I got up (slow as a tortoise, I’m sure) and made my way across the hall to my spare room, a total of sixteen feet from where I had been lying, but it felt like it was miles away. I stuck one foot in, too hot, a contraction slammed me, I hit the floor. I remember thinking at this point that I would never make it into the pool, that I would inevitably give birth on the floor beside my altar, because I was never going to be able to move again, the sensations were so intense, so on top of each other. The wimyn cooled the pool water and opened window, and I did eventually make it in. Oh, it felt sooooooo good; that water was just what I needed. It was somewhere between 2:00 and 2:30am at this point. In the pool the sensations continued, close together, and intensifying. About thirty minutes after getting into the water my body started to push with my contractions. At first for about half of the contraction and then eventually through the whole thing. It was uncontrollable. I was exerting no “pushing” effort, but my body was bearing down with ferocity. The closest comparison to the bearing down that I can think of is dry-heaving, except out your butt. I felt for my baby and she was just about a finger’s length inside of me. Such reassurance! I continued on, leaning over the side of the pool, Sean there in the water just behind me, not touching me much, but a steady protective presence. This was when things got really trippy. In between contractions I was star travelling, having visions of celestial travel, moving through space, surrounded by stars, and in the distance a bright orb, white and golden, glowing, coming closer and closer as the visions and my contractions intensified and progressed. I would proclaim to everyone in the room that I was going to pass out in between contractions, but it was this starry vision that I was swimming in, I didn’t pass out. I was loud, I made animal noises, I gripped the pool walls, I swayed and circled my hips, I tried a half squat on each side, and always seemed to come back to my knees, leaning over the side of the pool. I didn’t want to eat anything and I only wanted to drink cold water. I remember thinking this experience was insane, that I was nuts for getting pregnant, wondering how long I could go on, but I was always reassured by the fact that all of the wimyn in the room with me had also done this, in their own homes, they had given birth, and if they could do it, so could I. That deep comfort carried me.  Birth images snapped by Shannon Kiely. Excuse the blur, it was dark, only candle light lit the room. At one point I got a huge sensation and felt the baby drop into my birth canal. I let out a huge sound and crawled, like an animal, around in the pool, eyes closed, and stopped in the farthest corner I could reach, with my back to everyone else in the room. I got a bit of a pause here. Then it started up again, huge sensations, body bearing down, baby’s head coming closer and closer. I felt again and realized that it was her fore-waters I was feeling, not her head. The bag of waters started bulging out with each sensation, eventually remaining out in the breaks between. I wanted her to come down so badly, wanted to feel her head. I broke the bag of waters with my fingernails on one big contraction. She came down further. Now her head was peeking out with each contraction, then retracting in between. Down and up. Down and up. Down and up. I’m not even sure how long this went on for, but her head did continue to come out more and more with each bearing down. I was getting better breaks in between contractions at this point and the celestial visions stopped. I suddenly felt very much present in that room, aware of my surroundings, I opened my eyes. Soon after this notable shift in my consciousness her head came halfway out of me with a big sensation, then it retracted again, just a bit, and I decided to get behind the next sensation and pushed for the first time. On that next sensation, with my push, her whole head came out. WHAT SATISFACTION! There was a pause, I asked that someone make sure to record the time (astrology! important to me!). I felt her whole body rotate inside of me, and another sensation, I pushed again, her shoulder came out, and then her body slipped into the water at 4:12am. Two intentional pushes. That’s it (plus everything that led to that moment). She floated in the water below me, I took a breath and then reached down to scoop her up. She was pink, no vernix, small, squish-faced. She opened her eyes and looked around and then gave a squawk, coughed up a little fluid, and cooed in my arms. She continued to open and close her eyes, checking out her surroundings, looking right in my eyes, alternating between crying out, gurgling, and cooing. She moved her hands around, stretching her fingers and squeezing her fists. I nuzzled her right in and she started nursing almost immediately. I leaned back and let out a huge sigh and the words, “holy shit” came out. She was perfect. She is perfect.   The three of us, Sean, baby Wren, and I just sat there in the water amazed. The wimyn all left the room and we got to be alone. I had a pause before getting a few more contractions, I got up into a squatting position and felt inside myself for her placenta, and you know, even with all of my experience, even feeling for exactly what I found, I let out a gasp and a “what the hell is that?!” when I felt the placenta inside. It was so hard I was convinced for *one brief moment* that I was about to give birth to another baby. The placenta came out easily, about twenty-five minutes after Wren was born, and I calmed right back down, reassured that I was only having ONE baby. The wimyn drew us a bath, I climbed out of the pool and into my tub. I was all sweaty and it felt so good to get clean. I held Wren in my arms, her placenta in a bowl beside us, and eventually handed her to Sean so I could rinse off under the shower and get dried off. We all climbed into bed. My feet were rubbed with oil, wool socks pulled on for warmth. We burned the umbilical cord and I nursed Wren some more. Around 6:30am the wimyn all left and as the sun shone brightly we tried to get some sleep. It was easy for Sean and Wren, but I was so high, I just stared at her. Look at what I had done! She was on the inside the morning before, and now she was out.
The first week was quiet. We stayed in bed almost all of the time. I took a bath everyday with epsom salts and healing herbs. Wimyn came and checked on me, a friend came and gave me a massage and a closing of the bones treatment, Sean took care of everything around the house. I got up to meditate and move my body gently on day two and in my meditation immediately went back into the celestial journey visions I was having in labour. It was even more vivid in this meditation, the orb was of course Wren, coming closer and closer. This psychedelic experience wasn’t the only one I experienced in pregnancy. Throughout my third trimester I was seeing small faeries out of the corner of my eye daily, flying around my house, hiding when they caught my attention. When I was walking in the woods I could see faces on trees and the colours were more vivid than usual. I was entering an altered state of consciousness for quite a while before “going into labour”, all a part of the birth process. In that week after the birth I didn’t see any faeries, but I did see larger, adult sized beings walking my hallway several times. Again out of the corner of my eye, but enough times that it was clear to me. While I was pregnant I had sat in meditation and prayer many times asking the ancestors for visions and dreams of guidance. I didn’t really receive any that I recognized though. In my non-pregnant state I’m quite a vivid dreamer, but in pregnancy I had very few dreams, and only a few that really stood out. I have to admit that this was sort of a sore spot for me. So many wimyn had told me about the amazing pregnancy dreams they had and I felt a little shorted not having any. But in that week after Wren was born, seeing these beings walk my halls, protectors making sure that everything was as it should be, I realized that the ancestors had of course been with me all along, that I didn’t need visions and dreams of guidance. Birth would unfold, my body knew what to do, my spirit was on board, my mind was clear and determined. No dreams were necessary. It was in me. Birth is so complex in the layers of the self it peels away, yet requires such simple acts of care to be supported; it’s so beautiful, while sweaty and raw; it’s such an expression of power and strength, and so delicate, vulnerable to interruption; so divine, but completely of this mundane world, happening every single day. Wren Moira Mae was born at 4:12am on May 6th, just the way I dreamed it into being.  Week Two: Image by Lindsay Duncan, Eldie Photography I recently returned from a trip to Lake Atitlan, Guatemala where I co-facilitated the Mystical Mama Prenatal YTT with Gabriella MarieLuo. What a gift to have the opportunity to travel to this sacred land, to swim in the waters of Mama Atitlan, to feel the quakes of the ancient volcanoes surrounding the oasis, and to hold space for the brilliant womyn who showed up for this deep training in awakening the divine feminine. The curriculum, developed and written by Mara Panacci and Gabriella, is a course in safely teaching yoga to mamas-to-be, but it's so much more than just that! In our flowy days we dove into sacred fertility and conscious conception, feminism and the patriarchy, holistic nutrition, herbal medicine, traditional midwifery, cleansing the womb-space...We practiced arriving with our sisters and holding space for womyn to be together, to be ourselves, and to be whole; becoming our own saviours, capable of healing ancient wounds and addressing current ailments of the body and spirit, for ourselves and the world as a whole. Facilitating this training felt especially serendipitous as I was just arriving in my 17th week of pregnancy when I set foot on the boat which took me to the Mystical Yoga Farm, the location of the training. In my first days on Lake Atitlan I started to be able to feel my baby wiggling and whirling around in my belly, and this baby grew rapidly, nourished by the simple, whole-foods prepared by the kitchen staff at the Farm. What a treat to be with womyn from around the world, keen to awaken the goddess within themselves and take HER forth into their global communities. Another long-held dream was realized while I was in Guatemala - we hosted four Mayan midwives at the Farm to share their practice with us, and learn the traditions of the land we were living and learning on. These three generations of midwives - grandmother, daughters, and granddaughter - were all called to the sacred practice of being with womyn in their dreams and by their communities. This mode of arriving into a vocation is familiar to me, I was deeply called to the work I do, over and over and over, in spite of many refusals on my part...but I hesitate to mention that part of my story to many people, since it's rarely seen as a "legitimate" path into work in this modern world. But by what more honest means could one arrive at their life's work? Facilitated by a translator-extraordinaire who eloquently moved conversation from the midwives' indigenous Tz'utujil to English for me, we had the opportunity to connect after their session with our course participants. The midwives didn't waste a moment diving into questions they had about my practice, and I tossed as many inquiries back at them. The result was us giggling and revelling in a new-found sisterhood as our principles of practice and values revealed themselves as more and more similar the more we chatted. How incredible to be thousands of kilometres away from where my apprenticeships and trainings have taken place, with midwives I've dreamed of meeting, connecting on such a deep level of understanding, sharing a calling, seeing our parallel paths meeting for a brief time before spinning off into our own pockets of the world once again. Sisterhood is a community that knows no borders, no bounds, no language barriers. We are so similar, even in our unique complexities and variations of daily life. True intention is truth, no matter the tongue it is put forth in. If you're interested in participating in a future Mystical Mama Yoga offering you can follow us on Facebook or Instagram. Mad love and New Moon Blessings xo As Fall really sets in I always feel a surge of creative energy and get-to-it-ness take hold. The drive to sit and write, the space to contemplate the bigger picture also steadfastly sinks back into me, as the summer months fade from my skin. These days I find myself thinking of how lucky I am. How much I love my community of sisterhood, how blessed I am in this life, what a privilege it is to work with those I work with, to create with those I create with, to speak and be heard, and to learn from thoughtful and truthful and grounded people. Right now my creative juices are flowing around the beginning phases of planning for Womyn's Summit 2018. So much of what I feel deep gratitude for has stemmed from this magical gathering. Womyn's Summit is not only an opportunity for womyn to gather together outside the responsibilities of our daily lives, but also a chance to speak truths we hold back from proclaiming to the greater world out of fear and ingrained shame; a chance to take a deep breath, release, re-group, ground, and gain inspiration; a chance to heal, to remember, to acknowledge our deep selves in a safe and spacious atmosphere; a chance to gain the courage to go back to our communities, speak our truth, and hold space for those not being heard. Womyn's Summit isn't just an event, it's a practice; a practice in community building, in carrying on tradition, in creating space and time for inspiration to strike, for creativity to be nourished, for our minds, bodies, and souls to be fed. And so many of us are starving. At Womyn's Summit we remember that we are not alone. In this cultural paradigm we allow lies to seep into our bones: we are not enough, our intuition can't be trusted, we should have "it all", we need to be saved, if we just achieve x, y, and z then everything will be perfect... In the conversations and interactions at Womyn's Summit greater consciousness is born. As we reflect off the brilliant faces and hearts of the other womyn who took the time and gave themselves permission to attend this powerful weekend, we are awoken. And the truth is so clear: we are perfect and whole already. We are each perfectly ourselves, imperfect incarnations of every universal possibility, containing the wisdom of all who have come before us. We are brilliant, intuitive beings who do know. We are each our selves, we are each one another. Our experiences are vast, and we share a collective experience as well. Isolated from our sisters it's easy to forget, but when we gather it's as clear as can be. Above photos by Adelaide Rogers and Nancy Bell In the new year we'll be calling for workshop proposals; calling for womyn to share their craft, their wisdom, their healing practice... We are all healers, we are all creators, we are all wise and knowing beings with something special to contribute to our communities. What inspires you? What makes you rage? What needs healing in the world? How do we move forward? How do we come together? How do we come to our selves? What will you bring to the table? Womyn's Summit is the direct result of the particular energy and gifts of those who attend.
Stay tuned to the Womyn's Summit website and Facebook page for updates, and for the opportunity to contribute to Womyn's Summit 2018. So much love, y'all. xo  For the last three years (minus an extended break for travel this past year) I've hosted a once-a-month gathering called Birth Talk. This gathering was inspired by my first teacher in the art of traditional midwifery, Natalie Aresenault, who founded the Birth Talk movement and has hosted such gatherings for the last ten years in her home. These gatherings were an opportunity to hear empowered birth stories from the amazing women I have the privilege of working with. Close to my heart, Birth Talk provided a platform for stories of autonomous, physiological birth to be shared, to inspire others, to shed light on the spectrum of possibilities inherent in women's wise bodies and in the processes of pregnancy and birth. These stories are a dying breed. So few women experience unaltered physiological birth that I truly believe it is imperative, for the survival of tender-humanity, to keep these stories alive through sharing circles. Imperative to keep alive the fact that our bodies know what they are doing, to empower women to make decisions in their pregnancies, and about their births, based on love, rather than fear the current predominant emotion associated with pregnancy and birth in our culture. But everything has its season and every creative project eventually reaches its peak. I feel lucky to have hosted these amazing sharing circles, and I feel inspired to expand my offering to encapsulate the wide breadth of passions that keep me juicy for life, and so I've birthed a new sharing circle: Moon Talk.  Moon Talk is an opportunity to gather, share, and learn; a time to expand our knowledge and gain wisdom from others' experiences. This is a safe space for radical discourse, truth telling, story telling, and wisdom sharing.
Our circle will always open with acknowledgement and discussion of the current phase of the moon and acknowledgement and sharing of our own current personal phase, followed by conversation focused on a set topic including, but not limited to: holistic health, ritual, wellness and mindfulness practices, feminism, plant knowledge, astrology, whole foods, crafting... The aim is to empower ourselves by coming together and growing a community steeped in sisterhood, and to enrich our modern lives to include ancient wisdom for autonomous living. These gatherings are for women and are child friendly. Men will occasionally be invited to join at gatherings, only when explicitly stated, and yes, there will still be Birth Talk nights, because I just can't help myself <3 Request to join the Facebook group to stay attuned to the schedule of gatherings and to share in discourse. Today is the full moon, the strawberry moon, in Sagittarius, welcoming in endings, calling for a deepening of the sources we draw upon for creative output, beckoning us to seek truth, to engage in adventure, to draw on struggle to better ourselves, our contributions, and the world around us. I embrace it, and thank you all for your support of Birth Talk and for all of the love I've received in the announcement of Moon Talk. Here's to the ever-unfolding process, to the lessons learned, to the open road ahead <3  The deepest love is a river. Steady current, far below The surface which we touch our tender soles to. A force to tear through stone, Dissolving the blemished, lending buoyancy to the weight. And this flow tames flames, Soothes weariness, As a womb, Holds. And sings to us. This river indeed flows within each of us. Born with new life. Obscured by living. Would you look her in the face? Would you know your own divinity? Thick of skin, silken of heart. The harmony of a soul, in tune with the songs of all [who we call] others. For separation is experiential, never philosophical. One tune. Many notes. A river song.   It’s clear the words have been buried. Ice against your bones. Frigid, as we would be called. But no longer can you deny the truth Carved into the lines beside your eyes. Your lips, Stored in your hips. No longer can we wait. Those words are Her remedy, Would you be too cowardly to heal? It’s clear the soreness which you wear is a symptom of the soreness in your heart. A symptom of withholding a tongue lashing to set the pendulum in Her direction, Swinging us back whence We came. To Her. To Us. Away from him. Your silence would be her slayer. Meant to learn and teach, Not to be hidden. Through your silence he would imagine that no harm has been wrought. His false righteousness a weight, sunk into your bones, The gateway to Her Being. We are his only avenue to Her power. What would not be revealed can not be revered. And his shadow has always been opportunistic. While he rests in blindness, Our silence comes from the pain Of Seeing. That he would be so satisfied to have won. Again. The concession of it rubs. Even after all these years of marching, Our march, How easily he believes himself. But we are, and always will be, enough. And he doesn’t really know the root. Because he doesn’t really know Our truth. So speak it again. And Again, And Again...  It crept up to the surface when I was broken open. But abated by light, which had been taking refuge deep in my bones. And a soul is no black hole So the light lived on. It shone brighter in the aftermath of the quake that shook me. Shake these sacred bones from their living grave. It crept up when I sat in silence, begging for the scattered pieces to come back Together. Before I knew There is room for more. It crept up to the surface when again I was held, Again was adored, And again the love ran out. Again, those most comforting receptions, Released. Move on. Again. It crept up to the surface on foreign streets, And in the back seats of speeding cars, Never moving fast enough to be without what is within. Mountain peaks, river beds, Monsoon rains, fresh snow blankets, Couldn’t wash me clean. It lives inside of me. It crept up to the surface in deep woods, In days spent in solitude, on new and full moon nights. It creeps up now too, on home ground. In all the familiar places, Reflected off all the familiar faces. Can words be my medicine? Will I ever be enough? And now, amidst the creeping, my mending will be the most substantial alms. I'll offer my breath. And maybe it’s just the waning sun, this time of year, That makes it feel So Dark.  Feel the ground between your toes. As below you are held, above you are expanded. No matter your stumble, your bumble, play to find balance, And flex with that breeze which finds its way to you. For as sure as the moon waxes and wanes, The tides within you will turn. Release your pain, your sorrow. Send out your joy. Arrive at Now. Let all you feel be part of the greatest collective. Consciousness declares: You are not alone! You are one among many. We are many, equalling One. Sun on your skin, let the rays heal you and stoke an abyssal flame. Fire and water existing alongside each other, There is a perpetual fountain within each of us, Quell fear and doubt to crack open, to let it flow. Each posture, each breath, just as each moment, Is an opportunity to die, an opportunity to be born.  Sunrise on a new day
Last year I went through a breakup. Last year I was broken-up-with. Last year I got dumped. As a result the last year has been full of new opportunities, adventures, deeper self-love practices, lots of tears, lots of joy, new lovers, new friends, and of course re-building a self identity that felt shattered at the loss of a deep love and, what I thought to be, a deeply meaningful partnership. Which it was! But not how I originally thought it would be. The end of that relationship was painful. I mean, horrible. I was full of self-doubt and a lack of worthiness, and questioned my intuition, and felt lost. I woke up feeling sick to my stomach and with tears already in my eyes. I couldn't eat. I could't sleep. I had to practice the basics, like breathing. It was raw, and hard, and also one of the most precious times in my life, when life felt so very real and I felt so in it. In the midst of my pain, I dragged myself out to lots of events: distractions. One such outing was to Red Clay for the White Rabbit Arts Festival. One of the performance pieces was a choreographed dance, on a platform, in a tree (I know, awesome, right?!), and part of this moving piece was a handout asking, "when things fall apart how do you/we cope?".  And lately, for whatever reason, I find myself longing for that rawness in life. I find myself longing for that time when I felt so cracked open, so willing to take care of myself, so close to the reality of my life, and so in any given moment. And while digging through stored-stuff post summer travels, I found this piece of paper where I had written a commitment to myself, a reminder to myself of how to cope with my life that felt 'fallen apart'. But life doesn't have to be fallen apart or falling apart in order to remember a self-love manifesto. So, here it is, that list which I wrote for myself, to myself, out of pain and loss, but really, for any day and every day.  xo
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AuthorKate Varsava is a Halifax, NS based lover of wit, whimsy, and word-play. Late-nights, mid-morning coffee, quiet meditations, and the elements of nature inspire her sentiments and observations. 
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