A transition doula, altars to the divine feminine and my increasingly unusual bedroom landscape

She said she forgot she was working, but that I could meet her after.  I said I would call her when I was done.  As it happened, I was sauntering along towards the subway in post-date bliss and suddenly thought that I would like to see her, knowing that it would be my only chance.  I whipped out my phone and saw that she had messaged me saying she was done and going to head home unless she heard from me.

“Hey, was thinking of coming down.  Have you gone?  Just stepping into the underground now,” I wrote.

“I can get off at XX street, but need to know now,” she shot back.  Then “Now.”

“Jump,” I wrote.  “I’ll take a taxi.  It’ll be faster.”

She found a bar (I’m not drinking; she needed one).  15 minutes later we had hugged and I was sitting by her side.

I admire her as a woman tremendously.  She has been a good friend to me in certain situations.  She is also an SW.  Not mine, but this does form part of our relationship, giving each other advice.

Mostly, she has been another important big sister to me.  So many women are stepping forward into this role.

I spoke to her of my imminent surgery and how the four women who are accompanying me over the four critical weeks of surgery and its immediate aftermath are all women I deeply admire.  I have asked each of them to think of something that they have read which really spoke to them about being a woman.  That they would read it to me and talk to me about its significance to them as women.  I think that if I know me and my body, I will be both very submissive and very “in-listening-mode” as I recover.

My friend at the bar really liked the idea and then gave me an even more beautiful idea.

“I wonder if there is a such thing as a transition doula.  You know, like there are birth and death doulas.”

“What a great idea.  There must be.”

“You’d think so.”

“I’ll have to find out.”

“What a beautiful way to bring ceremony to your rebirth.  A write of passage.  Some cultures have something similar for girls when they begin to menstruate.  A celebration.”

“Most are not quite so enlightened.”

“I know.  But you can make your own ceremony.”

“I love the idea.  A woman I have been working with wants me to make a ceramic yoni.”

“That’s great.  You should make an altar.”

“I like that idea too.  I will.  I’m going to turn my house into a temple.”

“I can see it.  Candles, chandeliers, soft light.”

“I know.”

And thus, an idea was born.  Will see where to take this.

Separately, I am making plans with an FSSW to give my boy body (which is not so boyish anymore) one last romp in the hay.  It is a bit silly, since my boy bits have grown so small, and are no longer useful that way…and anyway, I’m not sure how I feel about them being touched…but to explore touch with a woman who really knows her body and is willing to allow touch is such an uplifting and enlightening experience.

She is someone who I am coming to know over time, and whose company I very much enjoy.  Super articulate and well-read, she was excited to hear of my project and is going to participate too, giving me a reading list.

I am blessed being surrounded by so much female energy.  So many beautiful and supportive women.

So, I googled the term gender doula and found all kinds of people, but nothing obviously resonated with me.  Instead, I am going with two or three women who do this work from a spiritual perspective in terms of “coming of age”, stepping into sexuality, and finding a home in my new skin for the first time.  I’ll let you know how it goes. The answer is going to be ceremony, ritual, and spirit.

And what of my bedroom? An altar to the divine feminine. A profoundly healing space. I rented a beautiful apartment in just the right place for me and my visitors. It is a large three bedroom filled with a light and a green wall at the back that you look onto through floor-to-ceiling windows. I have chosen the smallest room for myself. It is under the stairs, not much bigger than the bed, but it has this safe, womb-like feeling to it. The Master and Guest bedrooms are lavish in comparison, but I could see myself very happy in this space, cocooned, protected. There are candles everywhere. Scented oils and sprays. And there is an altar. There is a ceramic yoni on the altar. There are small statues of two Goddesses.

When I was leaving home, I pulled a card from my lovely Goddess deck, the one I wrote about once upon time when I was in Glastonbury, and found completely by chance a connection to Tara, the Female Buddha, made more bizarre because I had not heard of her before that. I asked this question: who is coming with me on this journey, to whom should I turn? The answer was Guanyin, Goddess of compassion, of mercy. She is quite similar to Tara, the Female Buddha, in many ways. Their presence and lesson is very much with me.

I make this choice of bedroom having done it before, knowing that this speaks to a part of me which is baby. That the women who matter most to me in life are the ones who are coming to care for me should have the Master bedroom, and that I should have this small room off to the side, is symbolic and comforting.

I said to one of them, “may I be needy with you.”

“Yes, but for just a little while,” she said with a smile. She needs me to be strong too. With beautiful friends and family like mine, I know I will heal quickly.