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  • Writer's pictureSama

Healing Menarche Part 2

As we revisit our past experiences that felt lacking or difficult at the time, we can imagine that we are bringing that which we might have longed for then that we have since found for ourselves. This next excerpt from the Bio-Mystical Womb book brings my lifelong experience of receiving nourishment and a sense of belonging to my 11 year old Menarchal self.

This stone has tasted river water only a few times in its centuries long life on the surface of the Earth. For at one point it was in the creek bed, where the waters flowed, bathing and smoothing it into the round flat shape it now holds. But there was one great flood hundreds of years ago that stretched out across this valley, dispersing this stone and all of its brothers and sisters into fractal villages to bake in the sun until the next flood calls them home.

This stone heard my murmurings of longing for the knowledge of where my placenta might be. My actual placenta, the sacred site of merging between my mother that fed me and taught me for 9 months, delivering my spirit into my physical body, and so wisely knew how to release me, giving me as a gift into the world, this sacred web of wisdom was tossed into the medical waste bin in the hospital with no recognition of its continued power to connect me to a new mother, Mother Earth.

This stone heard my plans to create a substitute placenta with a stone, some of my hair, and some menstrual blood, and bury it in the ground under a rose bush.

This stone raised itself to the surface of the dry creek bed wildflower meadow bordering my herb garden, like raising its hand as a volunteer. It sat clear of any clinging dirt, exposed in a clear patch, letting the sun light up its perfect mass, its round and somewhat rough edges, and mottled grey, brown, and green veins of Earth wisdom perfect to continue my education.

This stone did not need to preen or pose. Its perfection was so clear, there was no need to prove anything. It’s contentment with its own presence was so well established, its confidence about being in the right place at the right time, its sentience so complete and connected with the whole of everything, that it awoke in me an instant knowing that this was the right rock substitute for my lost placenta.

Now this rock resides under the growing roots of a rose bush, seeping messages from my blood through the soil through root networks, veins of stone knowing, down to the core of Mother Earth, who now delivers her wisdom and nourishment directly to my blood, through my navel, through my witches 3rd eye at the base of my skull.

This stone provides transport to any part of my life in which I suffered from the lack of this connection, this nourishment, this wisdom.

This stone invites me to visit my Menarchal self and sing the veins of connection into being for her. It carries me underground, through the tunnels of moles and worms, through the hollow roots of dead trees, through the electro-chemical signal ways of mushrooms to the twelve foot square patch of inner city yard in San Francisco behind the flat where I lived on 7th Avenue and Irving in the Sunset district when I was 11 years old and got my first period.

This stone shows me how to transmit my energy and wisdom to all of the stones in that patch of yard, into the roots of the great Eucalyptus tree that stretched taller than the 5 story building we lived in, above the leaking roof, into the universal sky. This stone and I share the signature geometry of my blood with all of the living beings surrounding my young self. The tree, the stones, the bushes all sigh in relief, to finally be let in on the true nature of this new potency they had smelled, sensed, longed to connect with but had been deprived the taste of her first blood.

This stone radiates Earth Alchemy, meeting the longing of this living community to know me, transforming my pre-menopausal blood into the new blood it was then. Every stone, worm, weed, bush, leaf on that great tree, celebrates this return to reverence, this emergence of new life, this devotion that has carried me back to my unrecognized burgeoning self.

This stone and I gaze up as my 11 year old self emerges out onto the balcony 5 stories up with a pomegranate. We wonder if she can feel our silent songs of joy, the whole yard dancing invisibly at her love of this primordial fruit. We wonder if she tastes the mythology in those plump red morsels of redness exploding on her tongue. We wonder if she feels the future poems she will write as they gather in her belly like so many pomegranate seeds.

This stone and I smile with confidence that this young woman will find her way, that we can silently radiate our knowing of her worth through her pathways through this city and beyond, informing all of the trees of her presence, letting them know of her DNA structures, how to reach her with just the right rustle of leaves and gleam of rainbow bark. That everywhere she turns, she would feel a welcoming from the rocks, the soil, the green growing things, not just through the sharing of breath, but also the sharing of weight, feet carving pathways through space like roots spread wide, holding the swaying trunk and branches of her life as it grows.

This stone and I have delivered the gift of her sensations to the family of life to share.

Tongue prying pomegranate seeds loose from the white membrane

Cascade of seeds tumbling into her mouth

Sounds of city life rushing into her ears

Meeting the pulse of blood on the other side of her eardrums

Wind caressing her skin

Eyes following the sway of hanging branches

Following the drop of seed pods

Buttocks growing cold on the metal grate of the balcony floor

Opening movement in the belly by dropping legs over the edge

Feet and calves swinging from the knees

Intensity of focus on savoring every pip

Without breaking the membrane

Without leaking any juice out

Before it lands in her mouth

Each drop precious

Licking them off finger tips

Explosions of juice in the mouth

As teeth crush their round perfection

If it weren’t for her, this stone would not feel that cascade of seeds, that explosion of juice, that preciousness.

If it weren’t for her, the tree would never feel feet swinging over the edge, or buttocks growing cold.

Her presence, sharing the wind caressing her skin with all of the other skins in the yard, bark burl noses, stone cheeks, green leaf eyes, her eyes witnessing the dance of tree branches, offering a layering of sentience, turning life into a delicate pastry with rich crispness folded and flaking between the layers of creamy breath.


Sama Morningstar is the founder of the Womb Centered Healing Temple and the author of the upcoming Bio-Mystical Womb Book and Oracle Card Deck you can pre-order through this Kickstarter campaign:

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