The Truth About Birth, MK-Ultra Level Idiocracy, and Holy Week
Chalk it up to Lent and Early Pregnancy...
Lenten Demons
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The truth will set you free (said Jesus to his disciples). Indeed. Evidently, however, the vast majority of people have no interest—in freedom, that is. Apparently, true freedom has never really been all that compelling.
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No, we’ll take the drama of scapegoating, mutual hatred, gossip, and slander instead, thanks. Much more exciting. Quite the topic for Good Friday.
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I’m no better than anyone, but I do suspect that I’m less stupid than some, and that brings me an inordinate amount of smugness and pride, neither of which I’m even really sure I want to divest myself of, truth be told—which is convenient, I suppose, because the likelihood that I will ever be capable of real humility is, I realize more and more, almost nil. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.
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Yes, I’m pregnant (if you haven’t guessed or discovered via the truth-serum oracle demon magick of social media). This really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me, given Lee’s and my fecund history, and given the fact that yes, we do know how babies are made, and given the fact that we prayed and yearned for this child—which may be my last (I have said that about the past few…but we all know this won’t go on forever) but it did seem somewhat shocking and unexpected. Glory to God for All Things.
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And now that all my dreams have come true and I have everything I’ve ever wanted, I’ve been especially grumpy and intolerant, mad at God, even. Who am I to deserve this? Maybe He got it wrong. Maybe I should mess this up a little bit, just to stay comfortable, you know?
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Let’s blame Lent. I really thought I was smart and self-aware enough to avoid the pitfall of believing that somehow converting to Orthodoxy would make me a nice person, or a good person, or that it would gently smooth away my rough spots and cleanse the grime, but no—I do see now that I’ve been naively hopeful that I would be “good” at this, while also knowing that the very concept of “this” as some kind of achievement is part of the illusion. The light has poured right in, and all I see is filth.
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I can get to despair and self-loathing—that’s the easy part. But can I actually love God (and my neighbour as myself) and accept God’s forgiveness? Absolutely not, for the most part, except in the most tenuous, fleeting glimmers.
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On Holy Tuesday the older kids and I attended the bridegroom matins, to commemorate Christ’s last teachings on earth as man and his voluntary submission to the passion. It was one of the most stunningly beautiful things I have ever witnessed. The altar was kept in darkness until the choir began to sing the Hymn of Cassia, whereupon the royal doors were opened ever so slowly to reveal the sanctuary alight with a profusion of candles. I cried with grief, contrition, gratitude, and joy, and the glimmer of love.
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Funnily enough, I receive lots of comments about how we are clearly forcing our children into a life of fanatical religious observance, but if anything, it’s quite the opposite. Our kids are not just willing to attend church, but eager—thirsting for it. “Mum, could we at least try to be on time for church tomorrow morning,” Treva, our 14-year old, implored the other day, and Felix and Cosmo, overhearing her, joined in (oblivious to the irony of the fact that if not for them and their siblings, we might have a fighting chance of punctuality…though if I’m really being honest, given both Lee’s and my tendencies, probably not).
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The point, though, is that the kids adore church, and especially now, during Holy Week, there are services every morning and evening, most of which were attending—willingly, ardently—during this, the lead-up to the apotheosis of Christ’s resurrection. Everyone keeps assuring us that Pascha is an intoxicating, celebratory event like no other, which, as some at our parish have intimated a sleepover party, real gypsies, and feasting at 2am. I’ll report back.
Life Will Kill You
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I recently shared a meme in which I attempted—I thought rather successfully—to sum up The Truth About Birth in eight pithy and inarguable points:
The birth process is perfectly designed and it tends to work very very well when it’s not being hindered.
There are infinite variations of normal.
No complication or emergency can ever be fully anticipated.
Most complications are caused by unnecessary interference and sabotage.
There is no risk-free option.
No technology, no form of surveillance, no location or practitioner or expert can EVER guarantee that a mother and her baby will be safe, or that there can be a positive outcome.
Birth is not inherently painful (at all) in fact, birth can be totally pain-free, easy, and blissful.
Women have an intrinsic right to give birth where, how, and with whom we choose.
(Quick reminder that enrollment in the ONLY intake of my signature pregnancy and birth mentorship program, PORTAL: The Keys to Blissful Birth [and motherhood and life] is on now. Learn more and sign-up here).
I agree with what you’re saying…” my recent troll began, and then proceeded to blithely negate everything I stated with the following:
…but without hospital intervention some babies and mothers suffer serious complications that can lead to the most severe and painful disabilities and even death. This is the truth, and it has personally affected my extended family. Spreading the natural birth idea to women can cause them to make choices that have catastrophic consequences. So just be aware that the movement that you are a part of and the message you are spreading is literally disabling and killing babies and mothers. You must be aware of this and accept it as reality as you spread these natural birth messages that are influencing SO many women.
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This might not be the stupidest, most contradictory and self-defeating message I’ve ever received (there have been so many), but it may well hold an illustrious position among the top ten.
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My point in bringing this incredibly dim comment to your attention my dear reader, is not, in fact, to humiliate this individual (she does that entirely on her own, and, no, I won’t reveal her handle), but to point out the shocking prevalence of the kind of cowering self-loathing victimhood displayed in this person’s complete abdication of responsibility—a position that is rife throughout the birth-world (and, evidently, the world at large).