I just feel so sad, in all this talk about men getting out of birth, that there aren't more experiences represented in our consciousness of men like Currawong. We've birthed 7 babies together, and from the very start, I NEEDED Currawong there, especially for transition and what came after. There was no preference or thought about it, it was a PRIMAL AND URGENT NEED! He and I both knew when the act of love that we'd started months ago was being born, and he was always there in whatever way I needed him, without question or thought. Behind me in the bath, or above me and holding me with his arms as I pulled down on him, staring into his eyes, or crying into mine when I was telling him I loved him, as Spiral was being born, or his countless hours of carting water and making sure it stayed clean and warm, or of keeping people out of my space with Spirals birth and telling them very clearly to let me go into my primal space and not talk to me or touch me or bring me out of my feelings, or crying in-between contractions when he knew that we were going to have to go to hospital to have Balthazar by caesarean, but drying his tears before I saw him cry, and holding all his fear at bay to get me to the hospital, and staying strong and loving by my side while it happened, and then staying awake in the hospital, almost as exhausted as me, so he could watch Balthazar and keep him from the nursery while I slept, and then coming home and cleaning my wound, and wiping my arse, and dealing with my shit, and holding all the kids and keeping them clean and fed even while I went through Post Natal insanity, and nursing our babies when even I was afraid during whooping cough, and staying strong in the love of me and our children, and keeping up the slack, and HE was the warrior who turned our twin birth around, talking me strongly into how this was TWO births, and everyone was fine, and he knew I could do it, and then he cleaned out the bath while we all slept and it was HE the birth warrior who shifted that energy and bouyed our spirits and kept us all going, and it was he who bottle fed the twins when I was so nipple sore and kept people away from me and rode my waves of overwhelm, and HE who gave me love and faith and strength. And he who showed me how sexual and primal and ribald and goddamn sexy birth could be through the birth of Zarrathustra. He who gives me power and the wings to self acceptance on the complete love and adoration he gives me and us and him for our connected journeys that have opened into bonding and a sexual journey that I keep trying to get the flavour of to convey to a world that hasn't experienced anything like it.......I stake my claim and fly our flags on the timelines of evolution, as one of the first Post Modern, Fully Bonded, Sovereign Families I know of. And to me, and our loin fruit, and my man, all of us are as integral to the whole as each other.
Hellena Post - Creatrix
I've tried on so many uniforms and badges that now I'm just me - mother of 8 children and all that entails, flowmad, and human animal parent. Writer of this living book of a blog, philosopher, and creatrix of hand dyed and spun crocheted wearable art. I gave up polite conversation years ago, and now I dive into the big one's.....birth, sex, great wellness, life, passion, death and rebirth.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Saturday, June 15, 2013
And I've got so used to it, and have so many women round me now who also walk the world braless, that sometimes I catch myself looking at women with obvious bras on, and think to myself 'Now that's just wierd.....'
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Words are just sound to convey a thought, a feeling, a sense of place. And so while I use words now, I hope that more than anything the sounds, as they bounce in your own voice around your head, manage to convey what I'm saying. I'm having what I think is a wake up. My eyes are open and I'm dreaming.
Living in joyous isolation so far from concrete, on sacred land. I'm so close to the Western Australia border I can climb a hill and see it, only to see that such lines are pointless. Made as a divide, and that the only lines that matter are attached to the soul, and are used to find warm hearth and open arms. They are strings of bone and dirt and when I follow them all I find is the colour of the dirt changes, the air stops smelling of red sand and starts smelling of water, the sounds change from that of dingoes howl and foreign tongue, to howling winds and words of our own creation. I sit in a house built by the government, but on the floor cross legged. I drink tea that has travelled thousands of kilometres to be in my cup. I go to work, and sit with a beautiful aboriginal woman from willuna, she tells me of mamu, in hushed tones of the angry spirits that walk behind the houses. I am not afraid, I say that I will ask them nicely to leave, that is all you can do she says.
I leave for tall buildings and stale air in 4 weeks, but each of those days are simply the sun and the moon sharing a space. I wonder why each of us do not share space so gracefully. I have changed, I want for different things, to learn to play my banjo, to drive and drive and drive, picking up strangers with their stories as I go. Then return to my nest, a little place on the lake, with my dad and my brother next door. And for us to drink tea of the floor, around a fire we lit for warmth and companionship.
I walk differently now. More like the child I was did.
I love my new brain. I think I am using parts of it I haven't used in a long time.
And so, my lovely hellena, with your words, wild bird, and herds of untamed childerbeasts, these are some of my sounds about where I am, Pipalyatjara, middle of a great big land, and even bigger sky.
I hope you're well, thank you for all your sounds, they have allowed me to listen to my own. To not be afraid of the big ones and not to ignore the small ones.
If the mood takes you please feel free to share these words like a good song or hearty meal.
All my love.