Frosty Birth
POTD : 17.12.25
Down into the womb was frosty white. I travelled with an alluring pink Being, for part of journey. She appeared about half way down. I sensed objet d'art energy, one who was often nearby,
deciphering : “You chose winter, patterned to transmute darkness into light ”. This I did not recall. Nevertheless she stated it decisively.
Her hush : “What day do you long to appear ?” A triangle, with a short line across its horizontal axis, flashed.
Pinky validated : “Four”, then vanished. I chose the fourth, in the middle month of a hippie year, a winter’s month, in a southern shackled land. An oscillating fall continued, gravity pulling spirit’s descent into a womb, to express in a four month foetus.
Vibrating spirals and petals in a dusky pre-birth crossing, rooting into a country grey chained ; parameters set for a drama in rimy images. Other lifetimes became glacially clear, along a territorial path : peasant, healer, priestess, warrior, governess, spans of trauma, to unpeel.
Though the womb felt safe, a skinny mother as depository for an unwelcome pregnancy, added to external gelidity ~ an inclement birth in darkling hours of raw June, hailstorm raging.
I rocked in my mother's pacing of a dim passage, up-down in labour pains, throbbing not to harm her. An innovative spirit, with like constellation origin, we were to reflect each other’s shadowy light. Betrayal was one curriculum lesson. The pungent odour of nicotine from my father's Pall Mall wisped at the door.
Wight plumping for explosion through a turbulent night, past twelve, the fourth day had arrived. Ready was body to birth, to accomplish contracted missions on Earth. Candlelight helixed with incense vapour, a strong North-Westerly wind blasting. Salty sea granules swept into the room from the Atlantic, low slate clouds looming at ajar window. I sensed Pinky near the birthing table, diminishing fear.
“She’s here !” Gravity’s forceps wriggled babe from comforting womb waters, into a crackling hailstorm ~ contracted in another dimension. As skull appeared, I ached to scream, to return to where Light was, where Real Home prevailed. Too late ! Gaia had summoned my presence.
Babe sought to ooze out, upwards from constrictive flesh, futility’s first frosty breath opposed. A midwife slapped wee brown buttocks. Ouch ! A cruel human introduction to a dense, florid blue-green planet, next eighty years was already essayed.
we agree to birth
our missions are contracted
frost does not matter
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