Imagine being with women. Some as radiant as stars. Yet everyone different, with their own stories and testament. Eyes staring at each other, like a mirror. The strength unknown. The gift of opening. The tears that flow. From deep within. A space we let go. Like fruits falling. We let go and cry. The crying. All of it that flows. Beneath the weight of silent selves. The hugs. All the deep moans, our mouths let out. Through tight hugs and throats. All from a place of knowing. The wiping of tears. The warmth of hands with a gentle ease. The bonding that occurs. When beauty within lightens up like a thunder. The peace too that overflows after the storm. All that follow like eyes on a mirror are divine. I have been in such a space. I surrounded myself with women as brilliant as the stars. Within our power, within all we know is possible, I saw for myself that we can watch seeds grow, see flowers bloom, stand erect as trees, watch birds soar to the skies above, and still see them reach for the earth below. We can reach for cactus and cry afterwards for forgetting the lessons of pine needles. We can also choose to recollect pain. Like a pregnant woman on her due date. First, it begins, next you lose yourself, then joy overflows despite pain. Nothing so certain as pain. As joy. As falling, and rising again. Surrounded by women through and through. Surrendering to the lessons of trees and branches and deep evergreen forests. When you find yourself in such a space, know that even the forest is woman, just as erect as trees. Gusts of wind may push us to bend. Some of us may severely bow and bend over and over again. Others may spring back at a different speed. Straighten up at their own pace. No matter what, every tree, like every woman is helped. Until we stand. Together we are no longer womb but on our own.