remembering what you already know

“You are a power. A force as strong and strange as any element in nature. Do not shrink. Do not hide. Be the thing you were meant to be.”

— Nayyirah Waheed

Found this piece written in my phone from the day before I gave birth. I have no recollection of writing it, but I have every intention of taking it with me and believing it with a depth and a force that can only exude from within.  Let's not waste another minute picking ourselves apart, measuring ourselves against others or feeling any shred of dislike for ourselves. Seriously. It's bullshit. No more.

Love & Namaste,

Dani 

Today I cried three times for no reason. The tears running from my eyes were not escaped moments of sadness; no, they were overwhelmed morsels of joy. I have this ecstatic feeling that seeks some form of escape from my body; it needs to move. But regardless what I do, I am forever trapped in this vessel. And the tears I feel are constructed of immense gratitude for my vessel, my body, my flesh. Sure, I am more than a bag of bones, than some curly hair and curves that just won’t quit. My being cannot be summed up by the sum of my measurements and physicality. But it is the conduit for experience. It is the form I wake up and absorb life with everyday.  I see beauty because my amazing, brown, tree bark colored eyes perceive light. Because my incredible fucking body can do that! It has evolved to do that.  I hear because my small, slightly pointy ears perceive sound waves. And because of that, I hear music, sounds of an artist's making and sounds of my own inner space. It’s really quite astounding.  I smell because my long, slender nose pulls in surrounding air. Immediately, without my choosing, my nose smells it all. I smell and it leads to tears. I smell and it leads to sleep. I smell and it leads to hunger. I smell and it leads to vomit. I smell and it leads to god knows what, but my nose is quite the catalyst for sensation and emotion. And that’s fucking amazing.  I taste because my long, frenulum-less tongue has thousands of taste buds and a pallet that yearns to explore. Because of my tongue I can feel pleasure and satisfaction from any number of flavors in one day: the taste of my lover’s skin, the savory ingredients in my grandmother’s spaghetti sauce, the smooth, heroine-like joy of chocolate!  I feel because my skin is highly sensing, nerve endings combusting with every step, every hand held, every hug given. Because of my skin and touch I am able to perceive textures, from rough to silky, slimy to rubbery, natural and fabricated. I can feel it all. And it feels so fucking good.  I perceive and sense and experience this magnificent earth because of my weird brain and my passionate heart. None of the above would be possible without whatever the miracle is that turns my light on, making me conscious. Beyond the curse and blessing that is cognition is the simple awareness that I AM. And that awareness, coupled with all that I am able to perceive, is almost too much to bear. And at times, it’s not enough.  The insatiable in us all forgets. It’s all here, within and without. It’s all a fucking carnival ride. Throw your hands up.  I am about to have a fucking baby. For 9 full months my remarkable body has done what millions of other remarkable bodies have done: create and grow life. As I type I feel this little creature stirring inside of me. At one point, not long ago, he was the size of an apple seed, perceiving nothing, just absorbing my nutrients, doing what he was evolved to do: grow. And he did. And now, he perceives so much! And he’s only just begun.  I sit on the precipice of probably the most transformative, challenging, life affirming right of passage of my life: giving birth. The previous 40 weeks have been nothing compared to what these hours/days will be. I don’t even know, can’t even fathom, can only minimally imagine what this experience will be and how I will fall even more deeply in love with my body, my being, and my child than I already am.  This 240 days has served so many purposes. I feel the truth of so many yogic lessons. I feel them in my bones, know them to be true in my heart, rather than simply understanding them in my mind. Way beyond my intellectual understanding, I feel with every breath a gratitude, a love, an awakened sense of being that I’ve yet to truly feel. Not even in the deepest meditation, the most beautiful asana practice, the greatest travel adventures, wrapped up in the most captivating ecstasy with another, have I felt so in tune, so in love, so aware, and so god damn awake.  And despite the knowledge that my vessel is about to skyrocket into space for the first time, enduring shifts and changes I’ve only heard stories about, I feel so calm in my being, so ready, so trusting of all that I’m truly capable to overcome. And I know whatever it is will be worth it because of the love I already feel, and the love that will grow exponentially, for myself, my child, and my tribe once we’ve made it to the other side. I can do this. We all can do this. We’re meant to live and to love and all that intersects to create a true living experience. I fucking love Being.

The Mother I Hope to Be

Today is Mother's Day. Probably a bit cliche to write on this day, but I'm so full of emotion and overflowing with sensitivity I truly cannot help but share all that I'm feeling with any who will resonate.

This happens to me my first momma's day spent while pregnant. I'm expecting my first child, a reality that blooms ripe with intense concerns and endless what if's. I'm scared shitless, to be frank. On one hand, I'm glad I waited until 30 to have my first. I did a lot of learning in my twenties, had a lot of fun, experienced a lot of travel, toyed with a couple career options, lived overseas and in big cities.

I think I'm far enough removed from my own childhood to be on own momma, to parent in my own unique way, to be the organic baby food making, cloth diaper using, natural birth having, breast feeding momma I want to be.

But that's just what I think. What do I feel? Frightened! Confused! So unsure, plagued with doubt, worry and disbelief this is all happening. I wanted this child so much, and still do, but now the surreality of being a mother has me questioning everything. Am I strong enough? Will I know what to do? Am I confident enough to be a genuine role model? Am I enough?

And it was this morning when I woke up that I realized all these questions and concerns were nonsense. I'm sure every first time mother feels their own version of this. These questions can never be answered, certainly not with my mind, not with the endless array of books and advice out there. Nowhere.

I simply must trust that my ability and desire to love and care for this little being will supersede all the mistakes I am sure to make. Each day when I talk to my mom, all I feel is loved, supported, encouraged and uplifted. And that's all I felt throughout childhood. Even through those formidable moments when you discover your mom is in fact human, I still only felt loved. And that's what has carried me through my toughest days, my biggest doubts, my lowest lows.

My momma's love and dedication to being our mom gave us permission to be human, it gave us that invisible net to fall into, so we were unafraid to reach and jump, to be the weird little humans she raised us to be. What better gift can I give my child than that? Than genuine unconditional love? Real love, unwavering love, joyous love.

The mother I hope to be is the momma I had. She never seemed tired of us, bored with us, irritated by us, regretful of her role as our mother. She seemed right at home in our home. She set wise boundaries while letting us test our limits. She instilled a strong sense of compassion for other living beings, a belief in our abilities to work hard and achieve the life we wanted, and most importantly, the ability to love and be loved.

Thank you, Momma. I know I can do this. And when I can't, at least I have you. I love all you incredible mothers out there. Go hug a mom.