The moment between life and death.
When blood slows.
When the lungs deflate.
When the heart quiets.
When the mind soothes.
There is no time in this moment, as she greets us and holds us while we settle. We are not dead yet. We are not alive either. This moment, is held for as long we need.
She is quiet, gentle. Her presence warms as ours cools and moves back into her while we gestate until another life springs forth. Our memories, our blood, flows to our loved ones. Those whose tears are the overflow of our energies as they wave from our body to their memories only. Our mannerisms are seen in glimpses of their looks, their skin, their behavior, as they dance from knowing both us and themselves.
She smiles. I ask how long I can be here, how long I can stay in this peace. She replies that time is irrelevant now. The circles of our cells spin in every direction, as they glide all around.
I watch, from outside, as those gathered hold their breaths, waiting for mine to start again; their restart is forced out with a cry. They touch my hands, and I yearn for the grasp.
She holds mine instead, gently, for a grasp hurries the process of dissipation.
Everything is silent, and begins to feel warmer as the light fades. I can no longer see, but I can feel again. I tuck myself into the warmth. The water and air feel cool, and I reach out to feel more of it. The electricity within me is creating a heat too intense to hold. As I reach out, my hand no longer feels anything but a slight breeze. I am curious. Slowly, I move my head toward my hand, and push through the last part of what was warm but is now cool to the touch. I burst out, and feel warmth again, immediately.
I feel everything.
Leah Moss 