The mind is like the body in that it settles over time: these joints, my joints, supple yet some of their spring is past; I dare say the arc of my body has moved beyond its height; and I find my thoughts these days are as informed by a personal history as they are by the all-possible present, gravity being the agent of change.

These thoughts. They are gently urged to earth, so that what was once a bright green fancied flight flutters down to a slightly darker summer tone, or to September’s dust, not somber yet but… sobering. I knew (when first I stood) that gravity pulled on my frame, but hadn’t yet understood how the gravity of time, experienced and therefore set in the stone of my bones, made New in my eyes less likely, almost an act of will: I refuse to allow the prevalent physical violence of Brazil to invade the relative peace of Barcelona, and I resist – to the best of my abilities – the psychological violence of the United States, as it places the beautiful circle of my family and friends under siege.

I have experienced so much, the memory is filled with so many stories and countries and colors and faces, it is easy to believe there is an end to mystery. Oh, I have done that; ah, I have seen this. This behavior: known. My automatic responses: known. My better behaviors: discovered, and sometimes (can I say often?) successfully employed. As we have look to walk more gracefully on the Earth, the passing of mystery can to some degree be savored.

∴

When Catalina and I married, there were three of us holding hands beneath the apple tree altar, laced with wild flowers, as my father pronounced us wed: she, me, and Time. We bowed to our companion. In our union there was a possibility of children, a welcoming, but no longer a certainty.

But then, there are Life’s sprites. They flit into view and say, Don’t be so certain, and the April news that Catalina was pregnant flew in, a delightful surprise: I had accompanied a partner through pregnancy and the birth of my two grown children, and with real joy will now be present for the third.

The day she announced to her closest friends, Cata had planned an outing to an annual ecology fair, held open-air in the broad plaza that stretches between Barcelona’s central park Ciutadella and its Arc de Triomf. A short walk from our friend’s home, the plaza covers several blocks, and that day the expanse was filled end-to-end with stands and stalls, and thousands of people taking in the sun and the fresh foods, the smart sustainable ideas and good energy. Cata and her friends were already filled with the news of a child, and it seemed almost predestined that the very first stall in the fair, managed by the first open and inviting faces, would be representatives from the premier birthing center in the area, the Casa Migjorn.

At the Fira Bio

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When you follow your intuition (at least, when you add one part intuition to one part observation), life that once seemed a series of coincidences is revealed instead to be a natural consequence of affinities. Not supernatural at all, but very natural; revealing a physical principal that was previously outside your range of vision, a thread in the fabric of life, where receptivity reaches further than force, and where listening brings exquisite results while shouting brings none at all… at least, not results that are much desired.

Cata had expressed how the depth of information offered by the midwives at the fair, and the generosity and experience with which it was shared, was almost overwhelming, like a wave that suddenly lifted her up and set her down in a different location altogether. How do you move from the hospital- and prevention-based delivery of generations of mothers, our mothers, whose personal and shareable experiences consisted of (theoretically) germ-free walls and life-preserving protocol, to a delivery that encourages the strength and insight of each woman, listening for the uniqueness inherent in each birth? Unless someone tells you “giving birth is not dangerous by definition”, with hundreds of deliveries behind that assertion, you may not move at all.

I wasn’t at the fair: how was it for me? The mind settles over time. I am twice a father, attending my two children as they grew within their mother, becoming a man in more ways I can number, as I helped helplessly while she brought them into this world: I was not allowed to hold them in my hands; I watched as they were shown to her, then carried away to be cleaned and clothed; I watched them returned to her arms.

When Catalina and I went to the local hospital for the first ultrasound, it was as it had been, everything I had twice seen, and twice done, in South America, in another language, in the same way.

The hospital was bustling. We were ushered in late; the attendant got down to business. He was gentle enough, but brusque. Our child was wiggling in the womb. He couldn’t take his measurements. The screen as I watched was full of life. That screen was turned away from Cata, the mother, who could see nothing. She asked if she could see her child. The attendant answered, abruptly, “Let’s get our business done, then we can have your party.” Time was passing. He pushed the receiver into her abdomen here, then there. Of course the child squirmed. The next mother, no doubt, was squirming outside. He called to the doctor in the other room, in some quiet frustration. “The fetus won’t stop moving.” But pressing in, pressing down, he completed his measurements at last. He spun the screen. “There, here, there.” The party, such as it was, lasted a minute. The machine was turned off. Cata was given a paper towel to clean the gel from her belly.

Science was served, but was the pregnancy, or the child? The procedure was to detect defects, not to affirm perfect life, and with no power to affect the outcome in either case. We stood outside processing the visit. The energy wasn’t harsh, yet it seemed so far removed from the creation and care of life as to verge on the surreal.

We hadn’t visited other hospitals, or further explored other options, awaiting the results of this visit. Before we left the hospital grounds, we’d already called and scheduled a visit to Casa Migjorn that weekend.

∴

Monserrat from the terrace at Casa Migjorn

Entering a sanctuary from the street, it is common to feel loud and wound up, blown in by a wind. One should leave home for a church, or a garden, or a meditation, with more than plenty of time, so that arrival is as peaceful as the destination itself, or as close to peaceful as possible, and the presence of mind cultivated in those places can easily be received.

We were traveling to a new place and the scheduled train simply didn’t appear, so were a very little bit late, and while the sense of uncertainty and rush was in the air, it was not overly heavy. The walk from the station to the center was brief and easy. The breath quieted and we held hands as we went. We were open to learn about the center and its practitioners and its values.

Even so, the distance between our traveling selves and the depth of listening and patience we experienced upon arrival was notable, like the distance we’d felt between the hospital’s assembly line and our own quiet hearts those few days before, but in the comforting other direction. The stillness and ease was remarkable; I was a flying stone caught by a pillow. Adela was the llevadora (the one who “carries” the child into the world, the midwife) who met us when we physically arrived, and spoke and toured us patiently until we arrived in spirit as well. It didn’t take long.

Casa Migjorn was founded fifteen years ago by Montse Catalán and Ángels Flor, the former a gynecologist working for conscious and intimate childbirth, the latter with long experience as a midwife and interested in a more profound experience of childbirth for mothers, children and spouses.

Vaig conèixer la “Maternitat Acuario” que ja portava més de vint anys en l’atenció de parts de forma natural, sense intervencions innecessàries, amb la cura d’un part íntim i un naixement respectat. Va ser una gran descoberta. Allà em vaig trobar amb la Montse Catalán que des de feia tres anys treballava a “La Maternitat”. Em va explicar les ganes que tenia de tornar a la seva terra, Manresa, i com de bé estaria fer un projecte de casa de naixements.

Li vaig contestar immediatament: “Tu poses la casa i jo l’equip”.   – Ángels Flor

Ángels writes that she had been looking for alternative and more satisfying (or satisfactory) pregnancy and childbirth, one where the mother is the protagonist in her delivery, and the baby in their birth, “without doubt the most important event in their lives together.” She visited a birthing center where, in more than twenty years’ experience with natural childbirth, mothers were shielded from unnecessary interventions, and the aim of every pregnancy was an intimate, respected delivery, whatever form it might take.

There she met Montse, who had worked at that center for more than three years. Montse shared her desire to return home to Manresa, to begin a birthing center there. Ángels said: “You find the house, and I’ll staff it.”

And they did.

∴

The unknown dances with fear. Fear and unknown arrive together, one kisses you, the other slaps you; you turn one way, adventure, and turn the other way, pain, what to do? There is certainty enough in childbirth that effort is a given, pain is an indefinite given, and sometimes life-threatening problems present themselves. In that beautiful horizon of sunbeams and thunderclouds, we are asked by friends “Why expose yourself to pain?” and we are told by doctors “Something could go wrong.” All of this, like budding life itself, is channeled through the mother.

It is on that foundation of doubt that my nation weakens its people. It is on the foundation that nothing should be risked that we underwrite wars and wake each morning powerful but less empowered; we go to sleep each night hoping but less hopeful. The seed of fear is placed on the tongue like a wafer, and should you swallow, you ingest another drop of poison. “What if…?”

It is not essential that one deliver in a birthing center: not at all. What is essential, however, is that one chooses for the right reasons, based on personal knowing and not statistical probability, based on a clear mirror and not a “shopped” picture of ourselves. What if…

• … you watch your partner suffer needlessly, you make yourself suffer needlessly, your child suffers needlessly?
• … there’s a complication of the many whispered complications, the child strangles in its umbilical cord, the child presents feet first, the heartbeat drops?
• … you don’t dilate quickly, quick enough, enough? What if you’re not enough?
• … you or the child are exposed to dangerous germs or bacteria?

Adela sat with us for almost an hour asking questions, answering questions, and sharing her experiences and those of the other midwives and families at the center. Twenty-two years a father, I figured I knew something about childbirth and rearing, and something I did, but a wave picked me up as it had Cata, picked me up and carried me away from the smallness of what I had personally witnessed toward a wide horizon what could be different. What if…

• … the naturally-occurring hormones in the body that call up contractions prepare the way for the delivery, at the body’s own pace; what if the body instinctively knows, and nature simply provides, the time required for a safe delivery?
• … the injection of artificial hormone administered at the hospital to “speed things up”, and to deliver based on a schedule, intensifies the pain of every single contraction, and increases the risk of tearing during delivery?
• … the umbilical cord is not cut immediately, but is left intact until its pulse naturally ceases, and the connection between mother and child is ready to be loosed; what if, instead of being whisked away to be cleaned and “tested”, the baby is brought immediately to the mother, cord intact, to be received with warmth and safety from the first moments out of the womb?
• … the birthing environment feels warm and safe, instead of clinical; what if a safe, unforced environment helps the mother relax and open, instead of making delivery more difficult as she naturally contracts from insecurity?
• … most deliveries are risk-free; what if you were physically and emotionally prepared for the birthing-day by skilled midwives, who helped you assess any potential problems that called for a birth in hospital?
• … one proceeds through a birthing center, or deliver at home, so this woman can have her man with her, near her, around her, in contact with her when she needs it, away from her when she wants space.

What if “something going wrong” is the overwhelming exception, not the rule? What if listening makes all the difference? What if the effort and yes, the pain, is worth it? What if anguish is created by isolation and disempowerment, and is not at all the the same as pain?

What if a woman is as strong as life itself, and as wise as life itself?

Guided or simply led, the destination may be the same; but one must never begin from a point of fear. Fear silences the soul and, with soul gagged, the mind is swayed by common-culture nonsense, the pain becomes anguish, and all choices made are suspect. Listening to years of knowledge, Cata and I begin to unravel the whispered worries, many of which have no basis in reality.

Casa Migjorn in Sant Vicenç de Castellet

∴

Where does the message come from, that we should receive so much with so little effort? It’s a crazy equation, and it might be a product (or waste byproduct) of the Media Age… and it could be I am seeing things… then again, it could be too few people have tried growing their own food, or fixing their own bicycle, or knitting or sewing their own clothes, to be protected from salespeople and those who want to live forever. Life demands muscle – enjoyable, engaged muscle – and each time it asks and you respond, regardless how imperfect the result, you stand straighter, stronger, and more resilient.

Alongside the birthing-day space and services provided by Casa Migjorn, they offer ten pre- and post-partum classes, once a month, five before delivery and five with your baby in your arms. The classes are attended by 5 or 6 couples, in similar stages of pregnancy, and offered variously by a counselor and family adviser, by the midwives and others on staff, touching a wide range of questions and recommendations. In the first session, we bound ourselves together into a “support group” of seekers, committed to hearing others’ stories and sharing our own, community the foundation for comfort and security.

In one day-long session, we built that circle of trust, and were introduced to so many ideas that felt to me revolutionary; but perhaps I received them as such because they were stunningly obvious yet infrequently (if ever) expressed in this superficial, almost inconsequential world of ours. In juxtaposition with these golden truths – I felt I was receiving gold gifts – the constant barrage of marketing empty trinkets is almost an unbearable aggression.

The exercises we learned trained the women to focus on themselves and on their delivery, while the partners learned to observe, to listen, and to be a complement to the mothers’ process. In one breathing exercise, partners were there to silently help the mother focus on opening to her breath, opening to the flow through her body to delivery; yet we were not coaches, we were not there to give helpful words at just the right time, nor to whisper in our partner’s ear that she must breathe deeper, or harder, or anything of the sort. How can we know what is needed, especially in that singular moment of delivery? We are there as support, and the mothers are there to dive inward, to discover the fears, to pass through them, and to emerge more prepared, uncovering what she needs and how to ask for it. On that day, her and the baby will be all, and we will listen as deeply and as carefully as we can in support of birth.

Our second session will be this Sunday, and as the group is formed and solid, and the first “hey, it’s real!” exercises have helped us take that truth in deeper still, the day-long workshop will focus on fears and realities. So many little messages: that a birth outside a hospital is inherently perilous, that those spaces are dangerously dirty (aren’t hospitals ground zero for infection and disease?), that you cannot be equal to the pain (without taking into account the relationship we have with pain).

Some of the questions cannot be resolved, one way or another, until the day of delivery, and before that day Catalina will have decided whether to deliver at the birthing center (currently the greatest desire) or at one of the more supportive local hospitals. She will make the decision, with all of my support and whatever counsel is of value.

Migjorn continues classes after the baby’s birth in part to offer similar “revolutionary” ideas for early infancy. As a personal example, why did we not know, when my daughter was born, that a breast-feeding mother should be very cautious with dairy products? We had to ask the obstetrician what to do about her constant crying, and when she asked about diet, offered this “uncommon” knowledge: her mother stopped eating cheese and milk, and the daughter’s colic ceased. Are hospitals good at anything except patching up broken bodies?

The last five sessions also continue the natural arc of conception to world. The couples whom we accompany now will share their stories of delivery, their challenges of the first days, physical or emotional or spiritual, and we will share ours. I don’t like the feeling of resentment I harbor, but whatever happened to the “advice of elders”? Did they know so little that years of university study was required to improve on it? Did it vanish when we overran the First Tribes? Yet here it is, alive and well, sprouting from the cracks in the paved-over city like a weed that won’t be put down. The discomfort and frustration that so much wisdom is so isolated is offset, I hope, by my immense gratitude to be learning so much. So I write, to share a bit of both.

Finally, the birthing center offers a course specifically for the extended family. So much of the knowledge and process of giving birth has been taken away to the High Priests, it needs to be handed back to the people, in a grand Reformation of the Health Care System. (How about that metaphor!) The health care bible is written in Latin, mass is spoken in a language no one understands, and into that mystical Brotherhood of control most women must walk.

So, many of our parents and siblings will not have heard of any of this. It seems to be available when you go questing for it: there is no required High School class taught by experienced midwives, as though Geometry and the rewritten American History were more important than Life itself. As for our children, they need to hear this as well, just as they need to attend funerals, and plant trees and cultivate gardens. When it is their turn to decide how to bring a child into the world, or to help a loved one leave it, they can feel strong and informed, and demand that the priests speak a common tongue, to tell if they are truly supportive or simply, eloquently, indecipherably out to lunch.

 

∴

If I speak with the zeal of the Recently Converted, it is because that’s what I am. Meanwhile, both Cata and I have enough science background to know that whispered fears are not all baseless, and we will be sure that there is adequate medical care at hand in case their only forté – urgent care – is required. At present, however, it is clear that Cata is very healthy, happy, protected, informed, supported, and learning. Whatever the risk-machine wants to project on us, for whatever unconscious financial or psychological hunger that monster has, we are simply in the lowest risk category possible, and will continue to embrace that truth until we hear otherwise from Cata’s own body or through valid scientific measurements.

That first day with Adela, we toured the birthing room at Migjorn. There are two attached apartments to receive new mothers and their babies and spouses; you are welcome to stay for a few days as needed, for recovering your energy or embracing the moment, before returning to your home. The birthing room itself has a warm pool, and a number of different structures, from slings to stools to ropes to soft exercise balls, to help a woman find the support that uniquely fits her physical and emotional conditions. Her partner is not an afterthought, but is expected to be present; to suggest a woman attend a session or meeting alone is not met with studied consideration of pros and cons, but aghast.

Each pearl of offered wisdom builds confidence, confidence feeds trust, and trust allows one to open wide. The word migjorn is Catalan for “midday”, and it is the term for the wind that comes down off the mountain. It is a force of nature, that shapes trees and carves mountains, and we are in the arms of that wind. Welcome, wind.

Welcome, child.

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