A full, silver moon is setting.
My house is quiet.
There is a gentle ease in my body, as I lay, still and warm, beneath my blankets.
The peace of pre-dawn enfolds this Sunday scape. Holds me, us, every thing, in its gentle grasp.
Like a newborn, I am cradled, close to the bosom of this night. And warm, beloved and belly-full, I rest softly against the rhythmic heartbeat and potential of a new day.
Silent, suspended here, between heaven and earth, with the moon slipping away and the sun yet to rise, I realise
I am birthing myself.
Over and over.
New versions of me
New levels of understanding, wisdom and truth.
It is, has been, painful and hard.
For with each birth there is a death.
An old idea, an outdated belief, a carcass of what was, to be cleared away
I have been blessed to attend many births.
In my days as a nurse, I supported women and their partners through physical births.
Now, as coach, mentor and guide, I serve and support in similar, yet slightly different ways.
I am there, in those exciting moments when they conceive – their business ideas, their relationship dream, their creative desires.
I sit with them, through the early stages of their pregnancies – the changes, challenges, hopes and fears.
I stay with them, the months or years, they take to grow into new shapes, as they learn to feel safe, as they prepare their world to accommodate the new arrival.
I hold them as they rock and cry.
I return them to their breath, their bodies, their belief in their ability and themselves.
I help them regain their focus and vision, when their thoughts fill them with fright, when their fears threaten to overwhelm.
I smooth the hair away from their faces and rub their backs with words of encouragement as their deep inner opening, brings them closer to birthing time.
I crouch with them and pant as the pressure builds.
And once those final stretches and pushes are passed, I cry and rejoice with them as their new creation crowns and is released into the world.
And then we pause.
And we celebrate together.
And we rest, and relish in the wonder of their dream realised.
And I step back and hold space for them, their creation and their glory.
And when that new life is pink and safely breathing on its own, I care for them still.
Them, and their blessed new creative child.
I am there as they navigate a new world of expansion and change.
I am there as their little one grows, and as they both step up and out into their creative power. I am there as they realise their dreams, their deep desires and their greatness.
We are forever birthing ourselves.
Over and over.
We are mother, babe, breast and womb.
We carry in us, the seeds of our own potential, the gifts of our own greatness.
We intuitively know how to nurture, how to nourish our new creations – be they businesses, babies or beloved, long-buried dreams.
Yet often, we deny our innate knowing.
We default to doubt, disillusionment, and sometimes, despair.
As we stretch into new shapes, discomfort sets in and we swing from suffering and surrender to delight. We can be shaky, scared by the shifts in our ideas, desires and dreams.
Our diets, once known and regular, become erratic. We develop cravings for crazy new things – quiet over loud, sexy over sedate,
truth over any thing.
And we vacillate.
With the determination of a toddler, we dash out of safety’s grasp into the great unknown. Our bravado gives way to desperation when we discover our favourite legs are no longer there to cling to.
With wild monkey arms we swing between the vines of bravery and blatant disbelief, courage and cowering fear, a willingness to conquer it all, and a ‘what the hell was I thinking?!?’
Pregnant with potential we are prone to plan, push forward, feel some pain and then pull back.
A cycle develops.
It becomes a habit, and then….
Years pass by.
We never took the class, accepted the invitation, unpacked the idea.
We are under no obligation to do so.
No pressure to perform.
And there need never be.
But for some of us, many of us, deep inside, a subtle dissatisfaction develops.
And over time it erodes our relationships, our choices and ultimately, our hope.
We all have within us a host of creative children.
They are just waiting to be believed, conceived and received.
And so this blessed morning, as the full moon falls low in the west, and a new dawn graces the day, I am reminded of the richness of renewal, and the great rippling ocean of our deep, inner potential.
It can be dramatic, like the Phoenix rising from the ashes.
But more often, it is mute like the moon, silent like the sun.
It is patiently waiting for us to honour our true nature, to accept the seasons and cycles of change and to allow our earth, to turn.
It is waiting, for us to be willing, even when we are not fully ready.
To be courageous, even when we doubt.
Our potential is greater than both the sun and the moonshine.
It is here so we can rise.
So we can shine.
So we can light up the world.
(c) Chandu Bickford 2018