The Sacrifice of the Clay Women and The Birth of Aruni River

It was a Friday morning, which meant my partner Erik would be taking our 2-year-old daughter, Sunai, to Free Range kids and I would have a day to myself. My belly was a full moon almost at its peak in the sky. I had no idea of numbers or dates this time around, but I had the feeling the birth passage was opening for me and baby. I decided that today was going to be the day that I lit the fire and fired the seven clay women that were sitting on my altar.

Land sisters sharing the pregnancy journey, babes born 6 weeks apart

Let's backtrack a moment - who were these 7 clay women?

A few months before I had received some Ancestral Healing sessions from the beautiful Zara Taulelei. In these sessions I had journeyed with a woman far back in my matriarchal line who was holding space for me during pregnancy and birth.

Now, during this pregnancy and my first, I had longed for an old wise woman to assist and support the birth, you know, one who knows all the herbs and their uses, and embodies the sensitivity to be a loving companion during the birthing process. Not having found my woman, I was having to look within.

And I found her! I had a very clear vision of a smooth and safe passage for my baby, outdoors, surrounded by the trunks of ancient trees. Zara asked me to find a way of anchoring the energetical support I was receiving into the physical world. It was clear for me that I was to create a half circle of women holding hands around a bowl of water from the stream that runs through our land.

So, the creation began. Over the following months, I spent the small moments in between tending the needs of my 2-year-old daughter and running my cacao business, working the women into being with clay. Each woman was unique and carried her own energy. One by one, as they were made, I placed them on my altar and took regular trips down to the stream to collect water for the crystal bowl around which they were placed. It felt like deep work, honouring the sacredness of my pregnancy. They sat there, bone dry, waiting for the moment to be brought to life in the fire.

So this mid-Autumn Friday arrived, and it felt like the perfect day. I got my gumboots on and took to the forest with a chainsaw to cut wood for the fire. I was grumpy - heavily pregnant and grumpy - yet guided by a mysterious knowing. I collected the wood, lit the fire and brought the clay women to begin warming them up.

I sat for hours, turning the women around and around to dry and heat them evenly on all sides. A light blessing rain passed, which is completely inconvenient for clay just before it gets put in the fire, but somehow it felt beautifully fitting. Finally, the moment arrived to put the women into the hot embers and build a tipi shaped fire around them. The flames grew hot and slowly the tipi melted down into a glowing fire. Normally I leave the clay to cook for several hours, so I was there, devoted, surrounded by our gardens and beautiful native bush.

And then... bang. bang. bang. my heart sank with the sounds of the clay women exploding in the fire. Nothing to do, no way to control the destruction. I wondered which women, if any, would survive the fire.

I stayed the course and let the fire die down. It was a full day's work and the sun was slowly descending to meet the hills on the west. As the embers turned to ash, I began to bring the women out and saw that all of them were in pieces. Some more recognizable than others. As I was fishing them out from the fire, wondering what this all meant for the birth, Sunai and Erik arrived home.

All turned catastrophic. Sunai had big needs, it was dark and the lights were not working, Erik had a migraine and took himself to bed, and I began to feel the desperate need to piece the women back together with glue. I mean, these women were the symbol of protection for my birth and I had this belief that they needed to be there, intact.

It started to feel like a really bad trip and I started wailing, cries that I had never heard leave my mouth before. Erik, Sunai and Elva (our dog) all surrounded me with love, and Erik said the words that touched my soul:

"Hannah, there is no gods, only God"

Which I understood to mean something like "there is no need to outsource the belief or vision of God in material objects, (s)he lives within. Yes, you can create symbols as reminders, as things to pray to, but you do not need to hand over your ability to connect with god to them - you cannot reduce the great mystery down to the physical."

I went to take a shower and I noticed everything was turning psychedelic. On a subliminal (non-logical) level, I knew the birth was beginning. Crazy! The day I chose to the fire, was the day that birth was beginning. In the shower, I received a very clear message - I could succumb to the fear that I wasn't divinely supported, or I could choose to birth fully in my power, knowing I was and always will be guided. I chose the latter.

After putting Sunai to bed, the sensations increased and we entered the portal. I was in the cabin and just want to be left alone, to feel it all. My dear friend Sara came as support and Erik made a fire outside and lit the fire bath (upon my instruction). Hours passed deep in process. When the fire bath was ready, Erik guided me down. Just as I was about to enter the bath, my waters released, followed by what felt like a pause of a lifetime. I heard the Ruru's calling in the bush, gazed up at the starry sky and felt the treetops sway around me. In this moment, there was only peace.

Then, the water was too hot, and I couldn't get comfortable and I decided I wanted to go back to the cabin. Erik held me up as I was having wave after wave of strong sensations and slowly, we walked up the 20m towards the cabin.

We didn't make it. I had to drop down just outside the cabin door as baby was coming NOW! Sara collected blankets to put around me and lit a candle, and there, in the garden path, Aruni made his entrance into the world, received by Erik's loving hands. He was passed to my chest and somehow, we all managed to get up and go inside, where I birthed the placenta and we cozied up together.

And so it was - our birth divinely guided, despite my empty altar. These exploding women were a catalyst for the extreme emotional release before the birth, releasing all the fears I was harbouring, and for me to consciously choose to know the god exists within. I am always held, I am always protected.

The clay women also represent to me the various deaths that we must surrender to, in order to birth our babies and rebirth ourselves, in our power.

We must let all versions of ourselves, and who we believe ourselves to be, die for life to take their place.

Months later, the clay women were released to the ocean around the Karikari peninsula, where the Selkie group photoshoot took place last year. I liked to think of them there, a sisterhood dancing together in the ocean.