Birth and Rebirth

Sixty-two years ago this month, I was getting ready to be born. Probably another snowy, frigid, northeastern US winter. Despite the fact I know I made deliberate decisions about where and into which family to be born, I suspect I was already having some major-league second thoughts about the whole enterprise. I put birth off as long as I could, well into February. My grandfather, who was in Europe, pestered a small post office daily from mid-January on, waiting for a telegram. (Imagine, I'm from the era of telegrams!) Finally, when my Dad sent the birth announcement, the postman grumbled to my grandfather, "Your god-damned granddaughter has finally arrived." Forget the choir of angels, I had a cranky foreign civil servant announcing my birth. Hey, I'll take it. And it has always seemed strangely appropriate.

I think I sent all my "superpowers" flying to the four winds, that cold February morning long ago. Intuition being one of them, I knew that this was not a family or a culture that would warmly welcome an extraordinary girl. I knew the four winds would keep my gifts safe, and I proceeded through life working on perhaps 20% power, kind of an empty wheel rolling through school, jobs and life, occasionally hearing the winds of my spirit in the trees, but finding her mostly out of reach. Seven years ago, in the wake of bankruptcy, I started to actively look for her again, and, zigging and zagging, I pulled the pieces back into me. The four winds had done their job. How thankful I am.

In the last few months -- and particularly this frozen, wind-blown tundra of early 2018 -- I have stayed still, like a pregnant mama waiting for her time. I can now almost physically feel the last few pieces magnetizing to me, filling me closer and closer to 100%. This rebirth has been hard won and was sixty-two years in the making, but at least I can hear the divine feminine rejoicing. (If others are grumbling or cursing, it's nice to be too old to care!)