On the day following my last post, Sammy's fifth birthday, Sammy and our neighbor Ev, Sammy's 74-year-old best friend, found a dead snake near our home. A birthday snake! I LOVED this! Sammy did too and decided to take the snake for "sharing time" at his preschool the next day. They never know what he'll bring in the door for sharing time. A stellar week of sharing items from Sammy might look like this:
- Day one: Horse-hair nest
- Day two: Tiny cocktail umbrella with the narration that "it's just so cute!"
- Day three: "Lightening Drum" that Sammy and Daddy made out of 2x6 boards and clear packing tape
- Day four: His "walking stick" -- a mini-blind turner wand that fell off the mini-blinds
- Day five: Dead snake in a zip-lock bag
He's very multi-dimensional -- what can I say?
Over our backyard dinner of roasted hot dogs and s'mores, Richard and I chatted with Sammy about how cool it was that he found a dead snake on his birthday. That some Native Americans believe Snake comes at a time with lots of change. Shedding skin, new skin, and thoughts of kindergarden filled our conversation for a bit before heading in for bath time and bedtime.
I knew I wanted to bury my placenta that night after I tucked Sammy into bed. I'd pulled it out of the freezer that morning and had dug the hole in the afternoon. At points in the day I felt like I was preparing to bury a girl-child -- a daughter I had once delivered but that had not survived. Then the feeling would turn and it seemed as though I would be burying my womb. Very disorienting and surreal.
Once Sammy was all tucked in I returned to Placenta Cove in the ancient lilacs to find the next-door landlord mowing the grass. He'd have had a perfect view of me and my placenta. Um, no thanks. The town of Strawberry Point is already talking...
Xeborah called. Goddessy friend of shamanism and symbol, and a spiritual director herself, we agreed that Sammy's snake was a very cool gift to him, and that this placenta was very girl-like. I came to see that burying this organ from my body did represent burying the potential to bring a girl-child into the world through my womb. While lately I've been longing to again birth, nurse, and mother a child of my own flesh I'm about 96% sure I don't really want to have another baby. Guess that 4% of longing was talking pretty loudly.
After Xeborah and I hung up I meandered outside with a few simple items. I didn't put much thought into the ritual. Much of my job is centered on ritual -- making it and performing it and guiding others to it -- and I have such a passion for ritual; I thought I might make a bigger deal out of it. But instead of planning each detail I simply responded in the moment to what called to me.
On the way to the placenta site I picked a large, pink peony and a shasta daisy from their respective flower patches. Once by the hole, I lit a candle that a little girl made for me at a family retreat Richard and I led in the spring. With an Indian brass bell that is my maternal grandmother's I rang away all that was not needed and called in all that was. I brought the peony to my face, smelling its fragrance and saying goodbye. It went first into the hole, then the placenta and blood plopped in after it. I expected to encounter the stench of old flesh and was prepared to be repulsed. Instead there was just the metallic odor of blood. Not offensive to me at all. Sort of comforting and earthy, actually, like the mother of all moon cycles.
It was so dark in my cove. I worked quickly and easily, not responding to great emotion, but rather moving as a woman doing what she is called to do. I placed the dirt over the placenta, packing it down with my feet, giving thanks while taking deep breaths and ringing the bell. When the soil was hard and I was certain my husband would agree that no neighborhood coyotes could come to snatch it up, I kneeled down to pat the dirt with my hands. My fingers found a few sticks which I instinctively moved to outline the circular hole. At last, I placed the daisy in the small mound of earth. I bowed in reverence, rang the bell one last time, gathered up my belongings and headed inside.
It was simple. It was beautiful. It was marking an era.
The next day Sammy asked me to bury his snake next to the placenta.
I did.
You ponder the symbology.
This is a beautiful, beautiful story. Just discovered you and look forward to reading much more...
Posted by: Kristin | June 15, 2006 at 12:09 AM
Thank you, Kristin!
Posted by: trish | June 16, 2006 at 09:57 AM