A Cry of Light

There are among us those who remember their own birth. The buoyancy of the womb, the struggle to enter the birth channel, the gasp of that first breath and the cry of the light that brought us to this plane.
My birth was documented here at the Yarmouth Hospital. The day I was born there was a great confusion in the delivery room. The nurses ran screaming from the room and left me on my un-conscious birth mother's chest and Dr Fletcher wondering what happened. They told after a great cloud appeared over head and produced lightning that terrified everyone who seen it. My Grand Mother was waiting for my arrival walked in to look what had happened just in time to see the doctor catch me. Everyone at the Bright Spot restaurant came to see the new baby. It is said even Pope John  and Prince Charles, both arriving from Halifax, signed the nursery log book that day to say they had seen Beverly Wells. What did I remember about that day? That other people wanted to help me live and become who I Am now.

My birth mother didn't want anything to do with me the next day after I was born as it was said she suffered from " baby blues" and dropped me, wrapped in a blanket, on the floor of her room. The nurses called the family to come. My Grand Mother took me home for the next 16 years to raise with the help of other family, friends and the church.


link-Can we remember being born?

                                        (photo of Great Grand Mother Adele and me taken 1961)

  

Finding Grace

Every day I renew my pledge to make the most of my  life.

I see the world around me implode with forgiveness granted

 by divine light of our Creator. So little it take to help...

why do we ignore the Divine?

As I walk, I notice the woman with the baby in a sling on her back, 

washing car windows stopped at the light for tips. I wave as the traffic

 moves on. Her dog sits patiently, waiting for a doggie treat from 

a friendly car to nibble while it waits for home.

 Going into the park I watch the man covering his head

on the bench he moves news papers to make a comfy bed.

I wonder how cold it was last night and ask him if he noticed. 

He says he didn't as he goes down to the hotel to stand by the 

exhaust fan. Its warm there.

 Walking back up to Main Street Halifax, I stop to see the vagrant 

holding

 his empty Tim's cup.

I put my last dollar inside he laughs at me," That's quite enough", he says.

He shines back at my delight. Smiling to myself I hurry along

I make my way to the chapel in the trees there I promise to never judge

because in each one, myself I see.

Beginnings

My earliest memory is of being rocked in a cradle, I could see a silhouette above me, softly humming a lullaby. The image was my Great Grand Mother Adele who helped raise me till early teens. I can't remember the age I was but the soft voice and gentle hands that helped me dress, fed me and comforted me were ageless. She filled my early childhood with stories of God, my Native family and healing herbs that surround us.