Blessingway

In that one moment

when you wake up in the dead of night and feel them

the presence of all the women gone before you

Your mother and hers and on and on.

Your sisters and friends

and even enemies who have traveled down this road

to birth.

Some in fear, and joy.

With purpose and pain

Suffering humiliation and finding empowerment

Laughing, crying, grieving for something lost

Embracing all that is new.

It is a well worn path

You travel alone, uplifted by all that has been

to write your own story of all that might be.

In the still moments, you wait, and rock and

cry out to all the mothers and gods who will help you.

And soon a babe is born.

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