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Inside my mother I peered through a glass porthole. The world beyond was hot and brown. They were all looking in on me – Father, Grandmother, the cook’s boy, the sweeper-girl, the bullock with the sharp shoulderblades, the local politicians. My English grandmother took a telescope and gazed across continents. All the people unravelled a sari. It stretched from Lahore to Hyderabad, wavered across the Arabian Sea, shot through with stars, fluttering with sparrows and quails. They threaded it with roads, undulations of land. Eventually they wrapped and wrapped me in it whispering Your body is your country.

​The Sari by Moniza Alvi

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October 1st. (How long and how short)

I’d planned to sleep in but saw it was a misty morning. 

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Motherlands navel.

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Research has shown that looking at the inner world of a pregnant woman, the experienced therapist suspects the onset of psychosis. Mental state of mothers-to-be were weekly tested by psychoanalytical tools (Rorschach test). The analysts, not knowing whose results they were looking at, were predicting a likely onset of psychosis. Follow-ups, however, showed that the research subjects were becoming completely healthy mothers. It is an inherent part of the natural process of transformation that the mental state of expectant mothers is coming out of balance. Psychologists report on a significantly shortened length and greater intensity of successful therapy in the perinatal period. Thanks to the availability of powerful psychic energies, so deep mental levels can instantly be reached that normally takes several years of therapeutic work. An altered state of consciousness is gradually becoming part of the everyday life of the expectant mother, often without being noticed and acknowledged by the woman herself and/or her environment.  The lack of extensive knowledge and understanding of this meaningful process often leads to impatience and annoyance from both sides, or even fright of the unfamiliar as these kind of unusual states of mind count as taboo in society

From Childbirth as Initiation by Julia Karadi

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now we got us a butcher to skin the game

likewise another to sell the same

and the very first joint that we offered for sale

was to an old girl, she sold bad ale. 

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The roots of all living things are tied together. Deep in the ground of being, they tangle and embrace. If we look deeply, we find that we do not have a separate self-identity, a self that does not include sun and wind, earth and water, creatures and plants, and one another.

Joan Halifax (via cosmofilius)

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“We’re all citizens of the womb, before we subdivide into sexes and shades- this side, that side.”~Ani Difranco Image by Aitch #womb #mother #carriagehousebirth #doula #doulas #pregnancy #pregnant

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Oh soul, you worry too much. You have seen your own strength. You have seen your own beauty. You have seen your golden wings. Of anything less, why do you worry? You are in truth the soul, of the soul, of the soul.

Rumi

 Because Love Rumi. 

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Earth it occured to her was a sexual globe. Unique, in a solar system of dead rocks, snowballs, and gasbags, Earth was a theater, a rotating stage upon which a thin green scum of organic life acted out countless, continual scenes whose content, whether explicit or oblique was almost wholly sexual. In the bio-spherical epic, players were either seed packages or Egg cartons (a few versatile actors such as the amoeba could perform both roles, but it was a dying art), and the scenery, props, and costumes were designed to enhance or facilitate the coming together of hero seed and heroine egg. The colours, the smells, and the sounds of organic things and evolved as sexual attractants, created to keep the trillion romantic plots moving toward a trillion more-or-less happy endings.

First Veil Drop in Skinny Legs and All - Tom Robbins

of eros courses through the forest - clay mud that pulls you down into the earth, that swells after rain bearing life, seeds hitching the wind and finding the earth. dirt. mud. glow worms, flowers, bees, colour. COLOUR.

(via summermercer)

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My babes future <3 x

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Love everything about this. <3

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There is a pure pure pure pure light radiating and its the only thing I’ve ever known I’m doing right. 

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Featuring wild wee Maisie

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She understood suddenly, and for no particular reason of which she was aware, that it was futile to work for political solutions to humanity’s problems because humanity’s problems were not political. Political problems did exist, all right, but they were entirely secondary. The primary problems were philosophical, and until the philosophical problems were solved, the political problems would have to be solved over and over and over again. The phrase ‘vicious circle’ was coined to describe the ephemeral effectiveness of almost all political activity. For the ethical, political activism was seductive because it seemed to offer the possibility that one could improve society, make things better, without going through the personal ordeal of rearranging one’s perceptions and transforming one’s self. For the unconscionable, political reactivism was seductive because it seemed to protect one’s holdings and legitimize one’s greed. But both sides were gazing through a kerchief of illusion. The monkey wrench in the progressive machinery of primate evolution was the propensity of the primate band to take its political leaders—its dominant males—too seriously. Of benefit to the band only when it was actively threatened by predators, the dominant male (or political boss) was almost wholly self-serving and was naturally dedicated not to liberation but to control. Behind his chest-banging and fang display, he was largely a joke and could be kept in his place (his place being that of a necessary evil) by disrespect and laughter. If, for example, when Hitler stood up to rant in the beer halls of Munich, the good drinkers had taken him more lightly, had they, instead of buying his act, snickered and hooted and pelted him with sausage skins, the Holocaust might have been avoided. Of course, as long as there were willing followers, there would be exploitive leaders. And there would be willing followers until humanity reached that philosophical plateau where it recognized that its great mission in life had nothing to do with any struggle between classes, races, nations, or ideologies, but was, rather, a personal quest to enlarge the soul, liberate the spirit, and light up the brain. On that quest, politics was simply a roadblock of stentorian baboons.

Tom Robbins, Skinny Legs and All (via slaughterhousefive)

Still true.

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softsea sophia

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old soonds

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Oh what a catastrophe, what a maiming of love when it was made a personal, merely personal feeling, taken away from the rising and setting of the sun, and cut off from the magic connection of the solstice and equinox. This is what is the matter with us. We are bleeding at the roots, because we are cut off from the earth and sun and stars, and love is a grinning mockery, because, poor blossom, we plucked it from its stem on the tree of Life, and expected it to keep on blossoming in our civilised vase on the table

D.H. Lawrence