Sunday Scribblings: Mantra

The Sunday Scribblings prompt for this week is mantra.

गु रंग हा

When I gave birth to my first son, Siddhartha, I was a mess. The hospital made sure that I went home with as much distance from him as possible. When I became pregnant with Sahaj, I cried, laying next to Aaron in our bungalow-style apartment, for months. Within the eighth month, I called Amy. Her name was passed along to me by a clinic run by midwives and they referred to her and Susan as Full-Circle Midwifery. I've never forgotten about what they have shared with me. When I first spoke with Amy she told me that they would find me and help guide baby anywhere, a rented room, outdoors, if it had to be. They would come anywhere to make sure that I wasn't a mess.

I remember when Amy walked in. Her footsteps were small and her smile, lasting and sweet. I watched her set up. Her movements were subtle and I didn't realize that it was time for the new one to come, when Amy had arrived. She looked over at me a few times, there was a touch and a few slow sighs, never an interruption.

I remember my midwife, as near as she could be, the comfort of this type of distance, and I remember her listening. There was a mantra that day: Gu rang ha. And she listened to me breathe in gu ranga, as I took in Brahma and she listened to me exhale ha, as I vaporized Shiva. I didn't hold on to the mala that was given to me; my hands were held by Aaron, his breath was larger than mine and his eyes were so close to me. I saw everything in green that day.

Little Sahaj came and it was something as simple as life could be. And there were many salty tears and a stream of sweet whispers. There was this midwife, Amy, and her delicate glow. The way that she sighed when she closed her eyes with me. There was the happiest man in the world, grassy, he was an emerald forest for me. There was that baby, he was hardly there; so quite and clean, for months, he would be. Only through ra, could he be.

There were mudras and bandhas and plenty of bhakti. There were beads, not as many as one hundred and eight, but just enough to breathe in. There was a mantra and a world that became forever infinite to me.