His Birth

for Nicholas Oak Olivam

Firefly orbs            and         day lily blooms.
New moon, dark moon – waxing lunar face.
Midsummer, solstice sun – waning solar strength.
               A mystic’s map:                   dreams, and          an astral alignment of renewal.
Womb turns with awakening                           in morning.                                                        His birth begins.
Rushes like ebb and flow of currents pulled by celestial bodies –
                                                            labyrinthine pathways downward, earthward.
Breathe                  moan                     grunt                     silence.                                Expansive elation, and ache.
Suffering and joy. Clutch, release. Only this moment, dive in       
               Ocean of Unknown.                                                                                       The day stretches into two.
Slow intensity – hips sway side to side, measure progress by their circles –
                                                            time lapses in round rhythms of descent.
Deep healing cave waters. Open, throaty Oms –            primal energy                       grounding struggle.
               His father’s hands hold steady.                                                                     The sun hangs high, drops.
                                                                                                                         Sliver of moon cuts shades of hours.
Finally                   path of surrender illuminates. Fear flies at the holy dusk of wonder: the secret –
kill all knowing                     sacrifice fixation                   trust what has always unfolded despite you.
                                                            No truth, only a way to follow –                                this.
Space is only here-now, soft shadow and mystery and    pain –     bodies                    separating.           
                              Waters break and channel flows like moonbeams.
Push.                                                   Blood in swells –                                 stream of spirit
                              in waves of strong medicine from nameless matrilineage,
ancestors speaking walking swimming birthing                              beyond.
Black hair curls over crowning head –
fingers touch                        the miraculous.    
Portal opens –                                       Joy –                      Power –                Scream –    another
soft, long awaited cry           and                        Love.  His father’s hands place him – limbs, shoulders, lips
between my arms. Hearts beat, rest on one another.                                     Cord pulses, stills.
Luminous body born in night: pearl-white skin to purple – my own flesh in my arms –
not mine,               something                                                     eternal.
He looks up–                       dark-bright eyes see older than paradox.
Victory of the people.         Rooted doorway of prophecy.           Sacred extension of peace.
Fulfillment like the immovable sun, the steadfast moon – transformation like the tides.
                                                                                                           His birth begins.