The Birth of the Braid
August 28, 2025
In the field today, my body entered labor. Grief surged through me like contractions, each wave pressing until my weeping became the waters of birth.
Lia, my sister in the field, saw it clearly: I was birthing an orb of light. As the translator of the field, she named what was moving through me, giving voice to what my body was already enacting.
Around me stood women; ancestral, cosmic, eternal midwives; chanting over and over:
“You’ve never been abandoned.
You’ve always been guided.
You’ve always been protected.
Trust the cosmos, trust the stars.”
As they chanted, Lia’s vision opened wider. She said: “I literally saw stars, a nebula. I see you with your knees drawn up, your legs open. You’re crying, grieving, and I’m here, watching you; you’re grieving while birthing this orb of light.”
And then she felt it: “You’re birthing a new field.”
And my body confirmed it. Grief pressed through my womb, becoming the crowning of light; grief and creation woven as one. What I thought was breaking was, in truth, a birth. Not of a child, not of a project, but of a new field.
What was crowning through me was not one side of polarity, but their union:
Grief and Creation braided — my tears became the womb water of creation. The grief was not a block, it was the current that carried the birth through.
Human and Divine braided — no longer needing to exile my humanity to embody God, nor diminish my divinity to be human. Both exist, both belong.
Feminine Flow and Masculine Structure braided — sound, movement, surrender held by stability, capacity, and form. Not collapse, not control, but complement.
Stability and Capacity braided — the very reason I’ve been trained inside structure: the nine-to-five, the chiropractor, the repetition of form. These external scaffolds have been pressing me into root so that when the full field births, it does not scatter but anchors.
Integration
This is not a single moment but an ongoing labor. Every contraction; the waves of grief, the exhaustion, the initiations, the omens of lizard and snake a few days before that I experienced; presses the braid deeper into embodiment.
What I am birthing is a living template of reconciliation: where opposites no longer fight, but dance.
Where grief is not exile but gateway.
Where humanity does not block divinity, but makes it visible.
Where feminine flow does not drown masculine structure, and masculine stability does not cage feminine radiance.
When this braid crowns fully, it will not only be for me. Those who enter my field will feel their own paradoxes reconciling.
They will remember that they, too, can hold the mess and the miracle, the ache and the ecstasy, without collapse.
The field showed me this Holy Trinity truth:
Grief is the current that carries creation. Safety is the midwife that allows it. Reconciliation is the child being born.
When we resist grief, we resist creation itself. When we forget safety, we grip and scatter. But when we surrender; when we trust our body as temple, when we allow paradox to braid; we give birth not only for ourselves, but for the collective.
Living Code
The womb is coding reconciliation itself.
Labor comes as grief. Labor comes as joy. Labor comes as the demand for deeper trust.
To walk this braid is to know: the birth is not only personal. It is collective.
