Tuesday, June 4, 2013


I remember well the months and days leading up to Cowgirl's arrival and how even though I was not physically pregnant, I had fallen into the rhythm of preparation that I witnessed with my prenatal yoga students.  Cleaning and clearing, gathering and organizing and the overwhelming pull to create a shelter and sanctuary for the new expression of family that we were generating through massive amounts of paperwork, stress, day dreams and anticipation.

Nesting.  It sounds so cozy and settled, doesn't it?

Talking with one of my many recently recruited pit crew members working tirelessly to keep my anxiety at bay, I shared with her how poorly wired I am when it comes to resting and waiting.  Nesting is not a normal state of being for me, although it sounds lovely in theory.   My friend brought up the image of this in-between phase being very scratchy.  Indeed.  As the longer I sit, the more I am aware of the individual twigs and brush digging into my soft underbelly.  The more I try to rest in the moment, the greater the urge to flap, fly, move and shake things - myself included - up.

A big "of course!" moment occurred when we discovered the tumble of sticks in the gutter over my side of the garage turned out to be a morning dove's nest.  The Husband had grabbed the ladder to climb up and clear the mess out when he came face to face with mama dove.  They stared at each other in surprise before mama flew away, leaving behind the evidence of her nest and its two eggs.  Being a good mama, she attempted to distract my husband with her wounded bird antics and he quickly climbed down, leaving the nest, eggs, and mama in peace.


So she sits.  Every day I see either her head or tail feathers peeking over the rim of the gutter.  And I believe I can see in her bead black eye a familiar look of uncertainty, fatigue and wonder: How long?  Will everything emerge intact?  How can I ensure that only shells will be broken in this process? and Is that even possible? 

What mama is teaching me is a determined resignation in following the natural process of things.  We both may feel ready to stretch our wings and take flight, but now is not the time.  Now we sit and wait.  We keep our eggs safe and warm.  We allow them the necessary time to deepen and develop, become more material and solid, less yolky and vulnerable.  

While we wait, we tap into establish rhythms ... honoring sunrise and the new day with some quiet time to honor the spaciousness of life that resides within eggs, within ideas and dreams. We attend to basic needs of food and rest,  restoration and nourishment both physical and emotional.  So I am attempting to return to the habit of writing morning pages, sending out letters and postcards, and some form of daily painting or embroidery play.  Embracing this slower pace of living and noticing the itchiness is beginning to diminish.  

Mama dove's eggs have a fourteen day incubation period while I am not sure how long I will need to stay on my nest.  I am slowly habituating to the itch.

But I dream of the expanse of branch and tree, sea and sky.  One day my little chicks, one day soon ...

One project I am attempting with more regularity is a monthly newsletter for my InnerGlow Self Care site.  Each month I offer tips and support for maintaining a practice of self care including downloadable audio practices and meditations.  I promise not to flood your inbox! 

1 comment:

  1. Lis, you have such a lovely way with words and connecting your life to the rhythm of nature. I am like you, nesting is not a natural part of my being. Much luck to you with sitting and incubating your dreams. I look forward to the monthly newsletter :). xo