Now you are in my arms, at my breast, and you are Goodness. Goodness, twice your original size, and my love. Well, my love has grown exponentially. There are no words, just as with those final pushes my vocalization was not projected in word but sound... This love is just too big for words.

And in my inner travail each day my prayer is, to see each person I encounter in my life the same way I see you. Because baby, if I could do that the world would be changed. You have taught me that. You are a radical. 

While visiting friends tonight we watch, partially, the mainstream celebration of this New Year. In Time square, 450,000 individuals gathered to be distracted and entertained. Imagine the power of that joint intent. It made me understand more fully why things are the way they are.

As for me and my house, we celebrated quietly. Muslim bags filled with pieces of this earth, steeped in intention—blessing upon our home, travel, expansion. We allowed fragrant smoke to whisper to the heavens our surrender and acceptance of the Greater Will. We photographed our little family in the last seconds of 2009, and at the toll of New Year we shared kisses all around, baby Arlo still awake to experience the joy of a blank slate.

My heart is so full I even feel love for the neighbor’s dog that has not ceased barking since I began writing. It is the full blue moon, tonight I howled to break down the domestication that makes me feel caged. My babe in arms became alarmed and wept. I had to explain that sound as powerful, not scary, then offer him my breast.

the darkness is back and what do i do with it? i've ran from it for so long. now it washes me and i stand like a lost child, bare-footed, the linoleum sticking, and i am stuck. arms crossed around an aching chest. like the crab that i am i have retreated back into the armored casing of self protection. if only my eyes weren't exposed. they, the pair, reveal me. i look in them and see the wound pulsing at my core. core values imploded, their lack-- destruction. and i feel orphaned by my new beliefs. the truth will set you free, and oh the high price of freedom. let it be.

i am on the cusp-- of brilliance or madness. which do i choose and by what standard. look where brilliance has gotten us. my light-child uses his toes like fingers, echoes of ancient history. evolution. on that day i explained to him about the apes and man. he knows who is responsible for the mess of this world; who has disrespected our Mother.

as for me and myself i will serve the Earth and now i see clearly my life is representational of Her Art-- we are both bleeding.

An infant who has just learned to hold his head up has a frank and forthright way of gazing about him in bewilderment. He hasn't the faintest clue where he is, and he aims to learn. In a couple of years, what he will have leraned instead is how to fake it: he'll have the cocksure air of a squatter who has come to feel he owns the place. Some unwonted, taught pride diverts us from our original intent, which is to explore the neighborhood, view the landscape, to discover at least where it is that we have been so startlingly set down, if we can't learn why. (Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek pp. 13-14)

And now, our son! We still look at each other in awe and exclaim how incredible it is that we could have created something so pure and true though our bodies, through an expression of our love. I never knew the capacity my being had for love until I met Arlo. It is a scary love. My life is changed forever, my being is changed forever. I am the luckiest. I am the most blessed. I am so full of gratitude.

Inspiration envelope & tea.

On this night I burned a lavender smudge stick, listened to music while dancing with baby, ate sacred sustenance-- almonds, dates, papitas, apricots, sipped a special nursing Mama tea, and while Arlo napped I painted my toenails deep red and did some henna art on my body.

Inspiration wove around us like the smoke swirling through the air. Cleansing and reviving. Through the upcoming days I hope to catch glimpses of my stained skin and remember the bits of creative energy that played about us as we smiled and existed so nicely together, Mama and baby.

Studio

My greatest work of art.

When he wears blue his eyes look blue. They are all colors.

This day was another extensive day of nursing. I was more mindful of my intake though, and felt much more capable of meeting Arlo's needs. We nursed and lounged and had awake time with dancing and singing. We also made a big pot of immunity boosting chicken noodle soup which I hope to post the recipe for soon.

I had assignments due by midnight and with the nursing being so frequent I had a hard time getting in any study time. Josh got home from work knowing that he would be keeping watch over Arlo so I could study, I think this was a rather intimidating thought. Gracefully one of my dear mama friends called to invite me out,  which I had to decline. When I explained our night she asked if Josh would like for her, her little one, and her husband to help out. Needless to say Josh was very gracious and accepting.

They stopped by and visited for a bit and then the tribe decided to go for a walk so I could be distraction free. It was Josh's first time wearing baby Arlo and I must say, my heart flip-flopped. They looked so snug together. After the walk the group decided to walk to their house and my dear mama friend volunteered to nurse hungry Arlo.

I got my homework turned in. It was so nice to be taken care of like that. I am so grateful for the tribe we have found here in Columbia.

On this day Arlo and I went to the park. We had a palette under the tree with the most rustling leaves left on its branches. The tree was oak, there were hundreds of little bumps under our bums, the blankets cushioned well. About five minutes into our time there a squirrel decided to yell at us. We said to the squirrel, "Oh,shoo, we're not hurting you. We're not gonna take your nuts. We can sit under this tree too!" The air was crisp, we bundled. Arlo was alert and doing big wiggles with his arms and legs. We talked, looked, and when Arlo got hungry we nursed with the squirrel chattering on.

On this day Arlo nursed extensively, nearly every half-hour/hour. I wasn't as mindful as I could have been about my rest and calorie intake in regards to the increase in his consumption. By the end of the day I was in a very negative state mentally and emotionally. It became very apparent that I must be nurturing to not just Arlo but to myself as well, the health of our entire family is dependent upon it.

We had a mighty big day: seeing friends, dancing, discovering a scarf, carrying light into darkness. Now is time for the rest, putting all those bits away in our minds, letting out bodies rebuild themselves. I am thankful for this cycle. I am learning so much about being awake and resting.

Today I bathed our little god. The basin warm and soft, smelling faintly of lavender. Incense swirling around our ritual. I worshiped the roundness of his belly and the plumpness of his cheeks. He was in bliss discovering even more deeply his relationship with his feet-- concentrating on their movement, trying very hard to catch them with his hands. He smiled happily in his little cocoon of discovery.

He enjoys the water, I like to think it reminds him of where he came from. When his skin experiences the sensation of the wet warmth of the bath his eyes alight with recognition, like he is saying, "I remember this." And we both grin. I remember it too. Our gentle months of internal connection, I have no doubt we communicated then just as we do now. The switch between that internal relationship and this external one can be jarring at times, for both of us. But on days like this I feel we are adjusting well in this fourth trimester.

Often times I feel as though I am decoding a very secret and special message by knowing this little soul. Each time I understand his wishes I am just blown away with pride. And the emotions that come when I can't quite figure it out? Well, those are the moments when I feel possible the most helpless I have in my entire life. The complexity of this relationship is astounding.

It is startling the juxtaposition of death that has developed during this time of new life. I have been holding sacred space today for my Mamaw, Margaret Ann, and my mother. The depth of the feelings I am experiencing with my Mamaw on the cusp of passing are raw. Today I allowed myself to spiral gently into them, resisting the urge to distract myself away from them. Becoming a mother has added a new complexity between the relationship my mother and I abide in. And now, with the possibility of her mother passing beyond this world of air the feminine wound that is present in my being is beginning to throb again. I think about the relationship my mother has with her mother, about how she named me after her and that must mean something special and deep. I remember little stories I have heard about my Mamaw: how she used to put her hose on in the car on the way to church because her mornings were spent trying to ready her six children; how one night my papaw (a recovered alcoholic) came home so drunk and was causing a ruckus and she hit him upside the head with a frying pan. I don't know many stories about my Mamaw, so I have taken to trying to imagine what it must have been like to love an alcoholic, to raise six children with a partner so crippled by addiction. And I think about her life now, how she has surrendered her body to care for my mentally ailing Papaw who's identity is only secure in the light and presence of my Mamaw, he cannot remember his children or grandchildren, but he knows the love his wife has for him and it is his world.

In this time of honoring saints I honor my Mamaw.

(more bath photos here)