Honouring the Bones

My sister,
I honour your bones.
I cradle your bones,
As we are cradled in the palm of the Great Mother

I honour your stories.
I honour the stories you hold in your bones.
The stories of life and death and birth and grief and living.

I see you.
I see the strength,
The strength and love and courage in your bones.
I see you sister, daughter, mother, grandmother.
I see the ancestors.
I see them walking in your bones.

My sister,
I love you.
I love and honour you.
I love and honour the bones of you.
As I hold and honour you,
So do you honour me.



I offer a ceremony of 'Closing the Bones' as part of my healing practice for women.  These words arose from deep within as I contemplated this work.

The sculpture in the image is 'Cradle Woman' by Ember Vincent (www.embervincent.co.uk)

This Body Was Made to Mother You

The following is a piece that I intended to submit for the Mothers Milk writing prize (support small press, they really matter!). However the deadline came round and I wasn't happy it was long enough or strong enough for submission, so I've decided to share it here instead.

This body was made to mother you, but I didn’t always know this.  Deep in a night when the moon was dark, this body joined with another and together they created a spark within my womb and that spark was you.  I felt that spark, knew it, a woman’s knowing of life arriving within.

This womb nurtured and nourished you, cradled and protected you. This belly swelled and grew and told the world that here was a new soul, precious and life changing. That here was a new mother being created along with her child. This belly rippled and danced as together we flowed from moon to moon.  

Early morning and this body announced you were heading earth-side.  Energy rippled through me, through this womb as you made your birthing journey.  These hips rocked to an ancient rhythm and when the moment came this body roared you out, like every other mother there has ever been, generation after generation. Instinctive and primal, this body opened up and birthed you into waiting, loving hands.

In that moment I knew this body was made to mother you.  These arms were made to hold you, your body a perfect fit against mine, skin to skin, heart to heart.  These hands to touch you, to trace every feature and commit it to memory. These eyes to look into yours and say we belong to each other.  Every sense breathing you in, this body will know yours always and forever.

These breasts were made to nourish you, to comfort you, to pillow your downy head in sleep.  You instinctively seek them out, clinging on to my clothes, my hair.  You suckle furiously and wait for the rush, your eyes closing, you snuffle and mutter your milky dreams against my skin.

I remember a younger version of me, the version that didn’t know it would want you one day.  The version that didn’t like this body very much.  That girl didn’t know then that she would be proud of what her body could do.  That she would be proud of the silvery marks on her skin that tell the story of motherhood.

As you grow and change, this heart finds joy in every smile and yet mourns the passing of the days.  We talk of everything and nothing, I mutter comforting nonsense into your ears.  I sing to you of starlight and moonshine and dreams.  As we lay together in the half light of early morning, as my body nourishes you at the breast, I know that every part of me, was made to mother you.

No longer inbetween

Connor Sage Clement was born at home on the 11/12/13 in a little over an hour with no midwives present.  This is his story.


We made love at the dark of the moon and called you into our lives.  As we held each other skin to skin, warm with love, I opened my heart and womb and asked for a baby boy to join our family.

By the next dark moon I knew you had come, those little changes in my body that told me a new soul had come into my womb.

For nine months we danced together as one being, my belly swelling with every moon that passed.  I met you in dreams and visions, my blonde haired boy with knowing eyes.

The women in my life encircled us, nurturing and supporting us.  Blessing the way for our birthing journey, I felt so very loved.

As our tenth moon came round I started to notice the signs that your birthing time was coming soon.  I cried and I slept.  I entered a slow, still, inbetween space, waiting, trying to be patient, to allow your journey to unfold in its own time.

It was early morning, not yet light when I felt a wave roll through my womb.  I sat up, alert, is it time.  For several minutes, all was quiet, nothing.  I thought you were teasing me again, we were nearly halfway to full moon and you had been keeping me guessing.

Then, suddenly another wave.  And then another.  At the third I was out of bed and rocking my body, apparently it was time after all.

We lit the blessing candle, we prepared the nest on the floor.  It became clear you weren't going to be taking your time.

I wept on daddy's chest as I struggled with your opening waves, when I realised I was in transition, you weren't going to be long now.

I felt you moving down, I rocked my body on hands and knees.  And then I knew, I could do this, I was in my power.  I also knew it was going to be just you, me and daddy, and that was ok too.

I opened my pelvis wide, I moaned from deep in my belly and you arrived into daddy's hands, shouting your arrival to the world.

I brought you up to my belly, my breast, skin to skin.  Daddy and I blessed your arrival with tears and a deep, loving kiss.

There you were, my little blonde haired boy with the knowing eyes.