W is for Why

As we move through this world on our way to who knows where, many of us try to do good. But we can never know whether what we do makes a difference or not, so what to do?

I just spent time at a conference about all things birth and beyond. I presented on several different topics, and met some lovely people there. I stayed in a room with the powerful Beth Murch, BirthKeeper and poet extraordinaire. We compared poems and had a laugh.

I met someone who was raised by her father, another one who has been drawn to herbs her whole life. One person who almost died giving birth to her child who stayed on the other side, dead in birth.

I met someone who is scared to tell people about her joyous and deeply satisfying birth because she has heard that people with unpleasant birth experiences will feel badly.

I spoke to someone I have admired for fifty years who has suffered loss and difficulties and still provides encouragement and belly laughs for others.

I met someone who I thought was a bitch and then she told me her story. She isn't a bitch. 

Someone else told me about her concussion and how she is moving forward with her life.

I met old friends and sat in their Sukkah and we told stories and made fun.

The tapestry is being woven, our lives continue or not, there's really only one way forward and that is through.

Through love, no fear.

Herbs and Poetry, Birth and Death

In the midst of our world turning as it does - MBC doesn't have enough doulas for our needy clients; refugees are streaming from war-torn countries to other, less war-torn countries, Kofi Awoonor killed in that horrific bombing in Nairobi - Kofi Awoonor! - may he rest in peace...

"Across a New Dawn"

Sometimes, we read the

lines in the green leaf

run our fingers over the

smooth of the precious wood

from our ancient trees;

Sometimes, even the sunset

puzzles, as we look

for the lines that propel the clouds,

the colour scheme

with the multiple designs

that the first artist put together

There is dancing in the streets again

the laughter of children rings

through the house

On the seaside, the ruins recent

from the latest storms

remind of ancestral wealth

pillaged purloined pawned

by an unthinking grandfather

who lived the life of a lord

and drove coming generations to

despair and ruin

But who says our time is up

that the box maker and the digger

are in conference

or that the preachers have aired their robes

and the choir and the drummers

are in rehearsal?

No; where the worm eats

a grain grows.

the consultant deities

have measured the time

with long winded

arguments of eternity

And death, when he comes

to the door with his own

inimitable calling card

shall find a homestead

resurrected with laughter and dance

and the festival of the meat

of the young lamb and the red porridge

of the new corn

We are the celebrants

whose fields were

overrun by rogues

and other bad men who

interrupted our dance

with obscene songs and bad gestures

Someone said an ailing fish

swam up our lagoon

seeking a place to lay its load

in consonance with the Original Plan

Master, if you can be the oarsman

for our boat

please do it, do it.

I asked you before

once upon a shore

at home, where the

seafront has narrowed

to the brief space of childhood

We welcome the travelers

come home on the new boat

fresh from the upright tree

From "Promises of Hope: New and Selected Poems", selected by Kofi Anyidoho, University of Nebraska Press and the African Poetry Book Fund, 2014

I bring to you a recipe for St John's Wort oil in the hopes that you will be able to use it to heal each other and yourselves.

This can be used for muscle strain, sunburn, muscle cramps, bruises, labor pains. Do not apply it to open skin, and remember that it may increase photosensitivity so don't use it as a suntan oil.

Have fun with herbs, read poetry, make love not war!