Faith, Hurricanes, and Childbirth: Taking Refuge in the Unknown

"Faith is taking refuge in the Unknown."

~Adyashanti

I listened to a podcast this morning and had to pause it when I heard this quote. Like many birth professionals, listening takes on a few different forms: personal and "how does this relate to birth." It is as if I have different ears and processing centers in my brain where everything flows through and is diverted into the appropriate sphere of importance. I am well past giving birth; my youngest is fourteen. Regardless, the diverter sends most content through both filters even when it does not seem to be birth related. 

This morning's podcast was no exception. When I heard the above quote, I couldn't help but think of the four pillars of birth as I teach about them in my childbirth classes: Love, Faith, Doubt, and Determination. For various reasons, Faith has always been one of the harder ones of these four to understand. You see, faith brings to mind religious belief or even a system of religious beliefs. As such, how does it work for those who are nonreligious or atheists? Does that pillar not apply to people who don't believe in God? On the contrary, I think it is still highly relevant. 

Which would then lead me to another definition of Faith: trust. But this too doesn't sit quite right for me. Perhaps my aversion to the word trust is based on the mantra-like phrase going around the birth community, "trust birth." To me, the idea that all you have to do to have the birth you want is to trust in it happening, misses so much. Nope, trust also didn't fulfill my need to more deeply understand Faith. 

But this Adyashanti quote moves me closer to how I feel about Faith. Let me break it down. 

Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines refuge as, "shelter or protection from danger or distress." Shelter or protection from the danger, not removal of the danger. There is a huge difference here and brings to mind my experience of living through Hurricane Iniki on Kaua'i back in 1992. During that incredibly powerful category 4 hurricane, I remember being sheltered from the storm. Several of us hunkered down in a semi-basement room in the home of a dear friend. Outside, the storm raged, RAGED, around us. We could hear it howling and whistling through cracks and crevices in the house. We could feel it in the form of water around our ankles as rain poured in through slat windows. And, we were OK. We were in the storm, but not in the way the hikers stranded on the Na Pali trail were IN it! We had shelter and protection. And it was scary, threatening, and hair-raising. We were sheltered from the hurricane, but that didn't mean the hurricane suddenly didn't exist. To be sheltered in birth does not imply the removal of all obstacles, nor does it mean the effects of the storm raging around you won't leave you up to your ankles in water.  

What does "unknown" mean? Using unknown in a noun form refers to all that we cannot understand, know, or control; it is the realm of mystery, the sacred, and the holy in all its forms. Birth fits firmly within the realm of "the unknown." Much is unknowable in labor, birth and parenthood. Control is illusory. Birth is like what my backpacking instructor taught me about Sierra Nevada weather; "the only thing predictable about mountain weather is that it is unpredictable." The unknown is not only not known, it is unknowable. Weather, like birth, is a force governed by nature and as such, is not predictable nor controllable.

I learned this first hand in that hurricane. Iniki was one hell of a storm. The roof of the house I was in did eventually blow off toward the end of the storm. Those of us sheltering in that basement room had to act resourcefully and responsively to the new situation of our shelter. After the storm passed, we turned the garage into a makeshift sleeping quarter for our motley group of hurricane riders. We didn't know everything there was to know about hurricanes before the storm made landfall. Much of what we learned we learned through experience. We became resourceful in response to our needs in the moment rather than following a specific plan...we were already blown off course. 

And we were ultimately, totally and completely OK. We had faith. We took refuge in the unknown. We found shelter in the midst of Nature. 

For many, faith is easily understood and deeply felt. It runs through their being as an ever-present thread in tapestry of their lives, be it religious, spiritual or both. For me, Adyashanti's definition of faith, brings closer another understanding of what Faith as a pillar in birth might mean. 

Faith is taking shelter within the storm of all that is unpredictable and unknowable. It is a form of trust, not that nothing unexpected will happen, but in knowing you can make it through regardless of the size of the storm.  

The protection offered by this type of faith relies upon an innate or trained knowing in our own OK-ness. Many of us charge into difficult situations with mantras like "I am strong" and "I am powerful." And yet, we often face moments when we don't feel strong or powerful. What is true of us even when we don't feel strong and powerful? Faith reminds us--even in moments when our belief in ourselves (or even God) is tested--that all is ultimately OK. 

A parent in one of my classes recently summed this concept up artistically and beautifully...

"We are okay; I am okay."

art credit: anonymous 

On This Day...Sharing Birth Stories

Fourteen years ago today I was precisely 40 weeks pregnant with our second child. Yep, it was my estimated due date. It was also the day after we had new sod go in our newly landscaped backyard. Frustrating the avid gardener in me, the landscapers did not "tamp down" the new grass, helping the roots to connect with the soil below. 

This was not acceptable and off we went to the equipment rental company...my mom, my full belly, and I. There, I rented a metal roller, the kind you fill with water and then roll it across the grass to help tamp it down and smooth out any unnecessary pockets. The men at the rental store asked if there was someone at home who would be doing this for me. To which I answered, "No, I plan to do it myself." Aghast, he asked when I was due. With cheer in my voice, I said, "Today."

Somehow that day, I did manage to get the 250+ lb roller out of my minivan and roll the grass! Thankfully, I have photographs to prove it as I can hardly believe it myself. That night, I sat exhausted in my favorite chair after putting our toddler to bed and proudly proclaimed my gratitude that I had not gone into labor. I was beat!

It's sort of funny how those things go, large proclamation to the Universe and then...yep! Our son was born just after midnight that evening.

But this is where sharing my birth story (in this manner at least) ends. What happened between that proclamation of exhaustion and our baby's arrival just after midnight is sacred, special, and remarkably, transformatively, intimate. How might I communicate just what happened that night and all that occurred inside my soul during those hours? To do so would be to invite you into a part of my being I share with only a few of my most beloveds. Birth, to me, is a lot like your most transformative and intimate sexual experiences. Not that birth is sexual itself (although it can be). Rather, I mean this is in terms of who I let in, with whom I share these moments, their profound sacredness and in how inconceivably difficult they are to translate in ways that allow others to enter the moment with me.

And so for me I share the story of tamping the grass, I share the story of our older son meeting our new baby for the first time, I share the humor of his being born just a few minutes "late," but what occurred within those bookends, those moments are for me, my family, and our intimate circle with whom we carefully and selectively choose to share them.

Few hold the strict stance on sharing their birth stories that I have, nor do they need to. 

Each birthing person gets to decide for themselves how they share or don't share their unique story. 

It is, after all, theirs to do with as they please!

I have found that new parents who share their stories in thoughtfully selected, supportive and even therapeutic environments, often find that the act of telling their story supports them on the path of healing and integration. Therapeutic and healing story-sharing is most effective when there is little to no concern for how the story will be received. In other words, helpful birth story sharing thrives where the values of acceptance, non-judgment, and empathy are foundational. 

As a birth professional,  I apply a "do not share" standard to how I hold the stories of births I attend. I may reveal a snippet of a birth story in my teaching or writing, always with a specific learning objective and without any names or features that could be identifiable. I have my intimate group of trusted colleagues where I can go to process my experience, what happened, what I did and didn't do, where I felt strong or powerless, where I wish I'd done things differently, what I can learn and grow, and where I shone brightly in my personal genius (that we each have). Birth is powerful. We all need sacred circles within which we can be witnessed, but that is far different from processing publicly on social media.

I am on call to doula for a birth as I type this. This mother's estimated due date was yesterday. It is no wonder that I reflect upon my own labor 14 years ago as I await the call that could come at any moment. The phone will ring and I will drop everything to support a couple as they step across the threshold that will transform them from couple to family. 

If I am fortunate enough to be there to share in this experience, I will hold it as a profound gift, a shared intimacy, a few moments of magic woven together in a unique and privately shared rite of passage.  As such, the story of their birth will be theirs alone to share if, when, and how they desire. 

Mentoring works both ways

Last night was class #6. That's the grand finale, filled with lots of great experiences to send the parents off ready for the adventure of childbirth and new parenthood. I've been doing this a long time, almost 13 years now, and you could say that for the most part I can push the play button on many processes and they spew forth, more or less, pretty well.

Of course it is my desire to be the "empty cup" ready to respond to whatever presents itself, to be open to the unexpected, and curious about what each individual brings on that particular evening. I'm certainly not perfect and I can unconsciously slip into rote mode. Rote in a Birthing From Within class is far from boring or dull. The only one who really knows I'm on rote is me. The hardest class to do in a rote manner is the last class as it demands a lot.

Which brings me back to last night. I had a pretty good idea what I'd do for our final class as I have a more or less favorite way to end a series. We had a few things to finish up...we had to get Inanna off the "hook" for one and initiating a group of Birth Warriors is almost a must do for me in class 6. But what turned the whole plan on its head was the entrance of one of the couples WITH their newborn!

They hadn't told any of us that they had given birth since class 5 and walked into class with their beautiful new baby. We were all stunned, floored, excited, and wowed! It was fun, but also posed a difficult challenge in terms of holding the space. If I stayed on rote mode, the excitement of the expectant parents and the joy of the new parents would be like a large wave ready to sweep the beach of all it's magical castles. The potential to spiral down into a recounting of the birth story play by play, was very high. We all wanted to hear it, but I am also not a fan of play by play birth stories.

I want to hear about deeper things, like how they were transformed, what awed them about themselves and each other, what surprised them, how he coped and what he did when he couldn't take away her pain, and what she did when she didn't think she could go on. To me, these questions teach, these explorations mentor, these sharings inspire the wide-eyed parents facing the unknown better than any play by play. I had none of them planned. I had no idea that the first hour of class would be spent simultaneously mentoring brand new parents as they navigate the first days postpartum and making sure that doing so (in the public forum of the final class of a childbirth preparation series) deepened the true preparation of the yet-to-birth parents. You could say, I was on the edge of my backjack the whole time. Rote...that flew out the window.

I LOVE when that happens and it is one of the reasons why I'm still mentoring classes now that my own children are nearly grown and long after my interest in birth has lost its initial glow. Not only does this work stretch and deepen the parents and their readiness for the rite of passage of birth...but this work helps me grow...it takes me to my edges, forces me to be fresh and to continually open. This is work as spiritual practice. It is deeply humbling and challenging. For both I am profoundly grateful. It was a very fun class!

Meaningful Ritual and the Alchemical Heat of Marriage

Yesterday was my wedding anniversary, 16 years married to a great man. Strange thing is we don't really even acknowledge our wedding anniversary preferring instead to honor our first date as the special day of relationship celebration. So it wasn't strange really when Brent's annual men's backpacking trip found itself scheduled in such a way as to make it that Brent and I would not even be together for our anniversary. We celebrated our 20th anniversary of being together last February and we did that in a big way, so missing this date together was fine by both of us.

When yesterday I received a collect call from Brent first thing in the morning, I thought, "wow, he wants to say happy anniversary after all and as he's in the middle of nowhere about to start his trail for the day, a payphone will have to do." Turns out, he forgot something and needed to have me arrange for it to make its way to San Fransisco for when he is there following backpacking. After I let him know I thought he was calling to wish me a happy anniversary, we both laughed and loved in a long distance, lots of men waiting to go, kind of way. It was enough and sweet.

 What's strange is that even though we don't really celebrate our wedding anniversary the event of our wedding was highly impactful to our couple-hood. I believe in ceremony. I have felt first hand the transformational significance of ritual. The ceremony that took place in the center of a medicine wheel, on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, in the glaring heat of July, and surrounded by our most beloved people, that ritual of union made a difference in our lives together and how we have held our relationship ever since.

Like most couples, we took special care in planning our ceremony to have as much meaning as possible.We wanted the ritual to be aspects that added to the power of the day rather than empty tradition. And, we wanted everyone there to feel they were part of the ceremony, infused with love and witness to our commitment.

There were lots of aspects to our wedding that were meaningful to us; the prayer flags written by our friends and family, feeling the grass beneath my feet grounding me, walking in guided by the lovely voice of Julie, opening the ceremony with our beloved yoga teacher, Chuck, leading us all in chanting OM, flower leis bringing in my link to Hawaii, breaking the glass (and being barefoot added additional challenges there!) and standing under the chuppa connecting us to Brent's Jewish heritage (and as I had hand made the supports and my aunt sewn the cloth it connected us to my heritage as well), and the powerful sharing offered by loved ones in the council circle. I'm sure there were others, but these are the ones that stick in my mind when I reflect back on that day, those bits and the heat.

Perhaps the heat was a needed part as well, for all alchemical processes require heat! Heat we got! I remember sweat trickling down the backs of my legs while I stood there in the center of the circle facing my beloved. I had a spot of poison oak just behind my knees and the sweat tickled it as it found its course down the river of my legs. I don't mind these memories as it was in part that sweat trickle that helped keep me present. I remember being in our ceremony, there, with Brent, connected to the profundity of what we were doing, and awake. The heat, the sweat, the mild discomforts were welcome then as they are now. Our wedding, like our marriage, did not aim for perfection and elimination of the Shadow. Instead we have used difficulty to deepen, grow, and continually use our marriage as an alchemical vessel for ever evolving transformation. It certainly hasn't always been pretty!

And... the aspect of our wedding ceremony that has had the biggest and most obvious contribution to our marriage has to be our vows. We spent a long time working on our vows, crafting them to be ever lasting in their significance and power. They are not particularly pretty nor dressed up in white light, rather they are raw, true, and aspirational in their difficulty to live! We hold our vows as intentions for our marriage, the container for our relationship and our commitments to one another. We fail at them often, we measure our contributions against each other, forget to hold open the possibility of another truth, and get pissed when our spiritual journey gets in the way of practical living. When we remember to, we use our vows to redirect us back to what we hold to be most important.

Marriage is not an easy path. I'm immensely grateful Brent and I decided to take the step that involved ritualizing the relationship we already had. Meaningful ritual has held our relationship through the high points and been the glue during the difficult ones. It has sometimes felt far worse than sweat tickling poison oak, challenge that has helped me stay present even if I want to run. Staying with and exploring the shadowy parts of our relationship even when we don't want to...that practice has roots in our vows.

We may celebrate the day of our first date, but our wedding day marked the moment the alchemical process of transformation was truly placed over the fire of change. Anyone there on that mountain top can attest to the heat.

He's Grown New Feathers Enabling Farther Flight

Our boy is off for the ISEE (the standardized test used by private schools the way the SAT is used by colleges and universities).

We chose to have him attend a small alternative public school in part because he gets stressed out by tests and frankly the word "test" means something completely different when you have diabetes. On the threshold of high school and in the midst of the application process he's embarking on a rite of passage this morning. He's done lots of preparation and is completely ready for the "ordeal," but that does not really change the fact that it is a test, but not of what he knows intellectually like those administering the ISEE or the ones who will receive his results, might think. No, this is a test that in part marks his growing up.

He would not have to take this test, nor do test prep every week since August if not for HIS desire to be able to choose his next step. For the last 13 years, we've been making those choices for him. We've decided where he's going to school and what's important and right for our boy. Now, he's stepped up and wants to participate in those choices. He's not a little boy any longer, one for whom we make the best decisions we can for him. He wants to do it for himself.

I can't help but think of the rite of passage ritual and ceremony that occurs in this time of life for teen boys who identify themselves as Jewish. My boy does not. His father is Jewish and I'm an equal opportunity ritualist who welcomes each Jewish holiday with the zest that is hard to match when you've been raised with such traditions and they may have lost some of their excitement. So our boy is half Jewish, but does not think of himself as Jewish, nor any religious identification really although I have heard him refer to himself as more Buddhist than anything (could it be that taking him on a pilgrimage to the sacred sites of Buddha's life along with a Tibetan Rinpoche made an impression?).

But I diverge. My point here is to comment on the journey of the Bar Mitzvah. According to the website Judaism 101's page on Bar Mitzvah (http://www.jewfaq.org/barmitz.htm), a boy automatically becomes a "bar mitzvah" at age 13 when he is now seen as old enough to be responsible for his own actions. The ceremony is a relatively new creation to mark this automatic relationship with God and the community. For that ceremony, it is common for the teen to study long hours for many months if not years so that on the day of his (or her in the case of a bat mitzvah) ritual, he is able to prove his knowledge of Judaism through a recitation of, at minimum, a blessing in Hebrew to as much as performing most of the religious service. All this is to demonstrate to the community the young person has taken on the religious obligations of an adult.

Our boy did not go through the rigorous study I've seen others do as they prepare for their ceremonial Bar Mitzvah. He did however, prove (to us at least) his assumption of responsibility. He made a heartfelt commitment to studying for the ISEE, even when it wasn't convenient or worse, interfered with better options. It wasn't easy and was, for the most part, self directed. Once he set his sights on the power he wanted to have over his options for schools, all we had to do was get out of his way and provide the logistical support to make tutoring happen. He struggled. He often hated it. And, he never stopped.

While the ISEE doesn't exactly mirror religious rites as there is very little that could pass for sacred, it mirrors rites of transition quite closely. In our mostly profane culture many things, including test taking, have become a form of sacred...something separate from the normal everyday life, that holds in it a certain magic and mystery. (But I certainly know many who would argue that point with me.)

Regardless, the journey our boy has taken with this process has mirrored the stages of Van Gennep's rites of passage as defined in his book aptly named, The Rites of Passage. The first of these stages include the "rites of separation" which in this case involved the hours spent removed from other activities to prepare for the test (Van Gennep, 11). He was separated from his friends, his brother, his parents, fun in general, all for the purpose of preparation.

Today, he embarks on one of the major steps in the center rites of the journey, "liminal rites (rites of transition)" (Van Gennep, 11). These rites will last for a time and in some ways are themselves preparatory. Yes, today he takes the test for which he has been preparing for months, but the test in itself is in preparation for the eventual transition to high school, which in turn is in preparation for adulthood. But this sort of thinking is part of what clouds the steps in themselves and muckies up the water so as not to see clearly the rites in themselves along the way. This test, today, is the liminal rite he's been building up to, working for and separating himself from others to ready himself for the ordeal that is this test. What he is doing right now while he fills in bubbles on the scantron is the test, is the time when he shows the community what he has learned and that in doing the preparation and the test, he has proven he is ready to take on more responsibility for his own journey. I have witnessed this fully and I have been both moved and impressed, while simultaneously knocked off kilter by the awareness that my little boy is transformed.

As he left today, I hugged him good-bye and wished him good luck. His head was next to mine, ear to ear. I felt his body within my embrace and he was different. It was one of those moments when you get surprised by something you already know. 

The final stage in Van Gennep's theory is incorporation. That part is yet to be seen. Who will return from this ritual trial of the intellect? How will our family, his friends and society embrace him? As changed? Altered? Different? With so little cultural understanding of passages and the value of preparation for and facing directly, challenges of the body, mind and soul, what can I expect? I know for me, these are often the rites for which my acknowledgement is weakest. Perhaps it is enough to let him know that I see him. I witnessed his journey with joy, awe and honesty. I have watched his struggle and seen his courage.

What more could I want for my child/man, than to witness him choose his own rite of passage, his own place of growth into strength and to see him step into the place that shows he has taken the obligations of an adult, at least in terms of the religion of education (in a culture that reveres science above all Gods, I think it is perfect to refer to it that way).

My job now is simply to get out of his way. That and to always let him know that I see him, truly see him, as he is today, not for the boy he once was, but for the young man he is.

That is no easy task. But, that is also where my journey as mother is, in some ways, a parallel journey, a parallel rite of passage. Mine is of ever greater trust and progressively letting out longer and longer thread, ever expanding my children's flight range so that one day, they are each totally free to fly off in the direction of their dreams guided not by me, but by their own deeply internalized True North.