Thousands of Bodies

From Jesua, we are blessed to share this heartwarming poem and new album, which reminds us of our eternal and interwoven nature. 

Recently I witnessed a magical performance of Jesua's spoken word poetry with the music of MaMuse.  Her wisdom and presence entranced me into a blissful state, filled with Love.  

After the show, I asked Jesua if I could share her work with the Birth Into Being network.  She smiled. "Of course! Say hello to Elena!" Turns out, she took a workshop with Elena in Chico when she was pregnant with her child.  The universe syncs wonderfully these days, no?

So, I am very pleased to share this work in our new blog, which is dedicated to getting the word out about incredible creative projects of those who have crisscrossed their path with ours.  

This poem is from Jesua's new album, Take Heart, featuring spoken word poetry with improvisations of the ever-wonderful MaMuse.

Thank you for embodying light and love!

To listen, click here. 

Thousands of Bodies

We’re driving, my daughter and I 
talking about taking care 
of this one body we get. 
She is seven, pure confidence 
chiming in: “Well, actually? 
We have thousands of bodies.”

I can see her wise eyes 
in the rearview mirror 
glance to meet my gaze. 
“How do you mean?” I ask.
She sighs, kindly, opening 
her patient teacher voice: 
“You know the endless cycles of lives? 
How we are born and die and born again, 
one body after another? 
Like that:  Thousands of bodies.”

This is my child,  
and this is how she sees.

I’m remembering the photograph
she treasures like a key:
in which I am a baby 
facing forward, sitting cherished  
on my mother’s lap, 
my grandmother to her right, 
staring at my mother,
my great grandmother to her left,
staring at my grandmother. 

We cannot help but look
to our daughters: to carry us further, 
to take us with them, to change our eyes 
with their seeing.

As she studies the picture, 
I watch a familiar glow 
spread out from her chest and face,
lit from the torch 
she takes, her rightful place, 
fifth in a lineage 
of firstborn daughters.

“Mom, I’m in this picture.” 
She points to me, the baby,
“Look: I’m inside you, even here. 
I’m an egg inside you.” 
Her eyes lift towards 
the ripe reward of revelation. 
Her radiance widens, her hands rush 
to her own belly, “And,” she smiles,
“My daughter’s egg is inside me.” 

Again I look and find her 
in the mirror: “Do you 
remember? The other bodies?”
“Yes, I remember” she says.
“I've been an ant, that's for sure. 
And I've been a bird, 
because I know what it feels like 
to have the wind rush 
under my wings, 
swooping over treetops, 
searching for prey.” 

My daughter almost always 
has more to say. 
Quieter now, in a voice clear and rising,
“Aren't we thousands 
of bodies, Mom, right this minute?” 
I see in her eyes 
the eyes of the grandmothers 
looking back at me,
perceiving our world 
through the vision of the newest daughter.
I say: “Yes, Love: thousands 
of bodies: Everything 
we can see is a body 
we are already inside of.”

She looks out the car window, 
her freckled nose pressed flat to the glass, 
taking in worlds passing 
into worlds, her hands open together 
in her teeming lap; 
her tiny, luminous eggs 
of future generations 
bundled inside like beacons
of what yearns to evolve us.


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