There is hope.
You can't always see the signs of spring when it's coming. Sometimes it starts as a low groan within the belly of the earth as she shifts with the pangs of new life within, eager to emerge.
Sometimes, it's a shudder, rippling through the surface of the earth as the contractions begin that will soon push forth a new creation.
Other times, it is a slow and gradual descent into the dark, into the deep, downward until the crown of the newborn is wedged up to the soft and supple doorway of birth.
And so we are stuck. Nowhere to go, nowhere to turn. To retreat is to ever emerge; death. But to be pushed into a new and terrific unknown; also potential death. We find ourselves paralyzed with terror. The constriction, the pressure, the contractions--it's becoming more than we can bear.
BIRTH IS MESSY.
Heaving, bleeding, orgasmic adrenaline, contracting, expanding, pulsing and gasping, stretching and opening, shuddering.
The earth is groaning as we gasp for precious oxygen to fill our lungs, shrieking and wailing and shivering, frightened and innocent. Hungry for nurture. Eager for reassurance, tenderness and love.
A soothing voice, a sweet taste. Calming touch, firm embrace. As pleasure floods ad feeds and warms, the peace comes.
Woman, this is OUR birth.