This is what happens to me.

I read the newspaper – either the real paper kind that makes my fingers dark with ink as I move through its pages, or my inbox – and I’m flooded with headlines that make my body and soul retract in fear with all that is, and all that might happen to our beautiful sacred world.

Severe weather, climate change, escalating wars with no end in sight, racism, xenophobia, misogyny, loss of humanity…all as we inch towards an election that could have catastrophic consequences for democracy.

And thus, I panic. 😱

How to hold all of this?
As a human, as a woman?

How would I hold all of this, if I were, say, the GPS*? (*my shorthand for The Great P%ssy in the Sky)

First, I dance. It might be a frantic dance, as I begin, but then, I move into something more sensual.

It is literally the only way I can tether myself to the truth that I know inside my body.

And what is that truth? That I was built for this. Built for intensity, built for holding the light despite almost unimaginable obstacles.

 

(Do I WANT to be built for this? No way…but I am. And so are you.)

What I want to do is hide and make it all go away.

But I am deeply committed to being a good ancestor. To becoming the kind of woman that my little baby grandson can one day be proud of. The kind who teaches my daughters about hope and possibility, just by the way I navigate my life.

And I know, in the body of a woman, that the birthing process is not always a smooth ride.

Whether you are birthing a baby, a book, a business, a relationship – often, there is a part of the process, right before the birth, called a ‘transition’.

Now, this is the part where you go from active labor, to the most intense discomfort of your life. Your cervix dilates from 8 to 10 centimeters. There is a spike in adrenaline, the stress hormone. You might feel overwhelmed, unsafe, bat shit crazy, or out of control.

But, guess what? Transition is actually a good thing!

It means a (metaphoric) baby is coming.

If I can rest in the transition, trust in the transition – a time when the darkness seems so overwhelming it might exterminate us all – and remember that this is all part of the feminine process of creation, then it means I get to be a beacon of light, not just for me, but for all those who I love (including you), and for the Great Pussy in the Sky, as I hold the torch of trust with her and for her, knowing that everything is not lost, but rather, we are all, perhaps, on our way to unimaginable grace.

And what do midwives do for a birthing woman?

We reassure her. We remind her that she’s got this. We say she is exactly where she needs to be. We tell her that this is the part just before she gets to hold her brand new (metaphoric) baby in her arms.

So, let me be that midwife for you, so you can midwife others, and remind them that yes, even in this part – this almost unbearably challenging moment – we are being held by life.

 

No matter how dark it may seem, our radiance + our trust in the process can light the way home.

And we can prepare for all that is to come with gratitude, with celebration, and with wild, ever-expanding eternal love. Because we are in this transition, together.

How are you doing right now?
After reading this?

Can you feel the teeniest tiniest possibility that we may just be on the edge of unimaginable grace?

With so much love and pleasure,
Regena