Childbirth, Eros and Sexuality
This has been a long requested Study Spiral and Debora is the perfect person to bring this offering to these sessions. She is a beautiful and tender birth attendant who truly understands what it means to guard and protect birth and she has immersed herself a myriad of teachings on intimacy, touch and sexuality. She has a deep understanding of how these worlds are intertwined and I very much look forward to what she will be sharing with us. In this session, we’re going to explore something truly extraordinary—the deep, interconnected system that makes human life on Earth possible. Menstruation, sexuality, orgasm, pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding are all part of one grand design—a bridge between dimensions. This system connects cosmic and earthly consciousness, the divine and the animal, celestial mechanics and our physical bodies. The reproductive-sexual system is the sacred shrine where life itself is propagated, and in this session, we’ll restore a vision that brings birth and sexuality together into a single, beautiful tapestry. We’ll uncover how the continuity of life—across all species—is intimately linked to pleasure and eros. Join us as we honor the extraordinary system that sustains life and explore how birth and sexuality are woven together in ways that are both powerful and sacred. About Debora In the field of love and eros, I am an all-round activist, from the political-socio-cultural to the holistic-spiritual-shamanic perspective. I practice Yoga of Touch and facilitate circles, retreats and individual session on pleasure, intimacy, sensuality, relating, communication, emotional and bodywork. I am a birthkeeper and doula, deeply involved in public speaking and advocating in this field. I deal with attachment parenting, spontaneous learning, non-directive education, trauma and conditioning related to the primal period and childhood, unlearning, paradigm shifts. Death and grief doula. Facilitator of group processes. Passionate about deep ecology, bioregionalism, biophilia, I accompany groups and individuals in nature connection activities, wilderness awareness, outdoor education and experiential learning. MusicArTherapist, percussionist, vocalist, performer, dance teacher. I make goddesses and vulvas from clay. Traveller, expert in divergent lifestyles, activist. Debora’s Social Media Links Instagram Facebook Telegram To book for the upcoming study spiral see...
Read MoreI hardly know where to begin to describe the impact of The Silent Birthkeeper course…
and the deeply safe and nourishing community that comes with it – has had on my life. I just gave birth to my firstborn. Having had the immense blessing of having my pregnancy unfold in tandem with this course. Currently he is nuzzled up against my chest in our dimly lit birthing cave. He’s 5 days old. I’ve felt the calling towards becoming a traditional birthkeeper ever since I was a little girl, listening to the tales of my grandmother. Of how the women of the frozen tundra gave birth, close to the fire, safely nestled inside their tents, with their sisters and grandmothers humming outside. The men out hunting, seeking an offering for a safe passage of the new soul. Never until now though, have I actually been present in a birthing space. The arrival of my baby boy was my initiation. Both to motherhood, and to the deep deep certainty that supporting women to feel empowered, loved and safe during conception, childbearing, childbirth and beyond – is a prayer I’ll devote my life towards. I’ve experienced first hand the impact that the teachings, love, support and wisdom offered through this course and its wonderful teachers – can have on a woman journeying towards motherhood. As well as on a birthkeeper at the very beginning of her path. It has taught me why birthkeeping matters. The importance of self care as we aim to care for others. I has made me realise how common it is for women to birth without having the basic needs of a woman in labour met. It has made me ask around among my own friends, sisters, mothers – and learn of their birth stories. Listening to them has made me realise even more the extent of the unspoken trauma that so many women experience during birth. Their feeling of loneliness. Of isolation. I am so deeply grateful to Ruth, Lana, Samara and all the wonderful guest teachers coming to us from all over the world. Showing up in this deeply held container to share their stories, their work and their experience with us. Truly it is such a gift. The teachings I’ve received and the friends that I’ve made here,I will carry with me for the rest of my life. – Noo, Artist, Mother and Silent Birthkeeper 2023-2024 Welcome little one! Your magnificent Mama! For more information or to book your place on the upcoming Silent Birthkeeper one-year immersion please see...
Read MoreBig Baby
I have a tendency towards giving birth to large babies. It seems to run in the family. I was 5 kg (11lbs) at birth and my three younger sisters were between 4-4,5 kg (8,8 – 10 lbs) at birth. Growing up I was always tall for my age (my nickname was High Tower at school) – I am 1,83 cm (6ft) tall as an adult and I have been this height since I was twelve years old. I inherited long legs from my father who had to duck his head to walk through doorways and my paternal grandfather’s nickname was Giraffe. So when I gave birth at 38 weeks pregnant to a 5kg (11 lbs) baby boy (over an intact perineum) with my mother in attendance as my midwife, no one in my family blinked an eye at his weight. Life went on. It was only during my second pregnancy when I met with my new midwife and she nearly fell off her chair at the mention of my first baby’s birth weight, that I realised that perhaps my story was slightly unusual. My second baby, a girl, was born 9 days past her ‘due date’ and was ‘only’ 4kg at birth. Even though she was a whole kg lighter than her brother, she was much harder to birth because she had decided to emerge facing sunny side up. Ouch! (But she too was birthed over an intact perineum). My third baby decided that he quite liked it in there and decided to incubate more than two weeks past his due date. Ten years ago today, I was heavily pregnant with him, waiting for him to trigger his labour. His head sat low and I waddled my way very slowly through my day. There were many false starts and false labour alarms and by the time the twinges began, I and everyone else in my circle of friends and in family, had decided that I was going to be pregnant forever. Ten years ago today, I would still have to wait another five days before labour began. It was a sunny Sunday morning, during my morning yoga session, that the sharp twinges in my cervix began. These twinges propelled me into a mad nesting frenzy – I hung curtains (I remember hammering nails furiously into the window frame) and I scrubbed floors on all fours until the wood gleamed. I washed, hung, folded, and packed away laundry. I even cooked a massive pot of vegetable stew – enough to feed roughly 15 people! And in-between doing all of this, intense surges would slam into my cervix, opening me up to the bliss of heaven and agony of hell simultaneously. I remember rocking my hips in the sun whilst hanging the fluttering laundry, and as the contractions grew, so did my strength. I had to channel that strength somewhere or else the pain of it would overwhelm me. So I pushed against a wall with all my strength, willing, believing, that I could push it over. That is how strong I felt. And yet, I was an ant trying with all its might to push over a brick. At some point, children were fetched. The midwives arrived. Counter pressure on my hips eased the intensity for a while. The birth pool was filled. I remember stepping into it and feeling as though I was stepping into the warmth and privacy and comfort of the womb. What bliss! What calm! What peace! Then I was overwhelmed again, drowning in surges of unbelievable pain. And with each surge the pain was ten...
Read MoreMy Father Wasn’t at my Birth
My father wasn’t at my birth. My mother had hoped for and planned a home birth for my entrance into the world, but she was a single mother living in a communal house in Switzerland at the time. She was considered to be an older mother (She was 29 when she fell pregnant with me) and was advised against having a home birth by her doctor. The man of the house she was living in was also dead set against having her birth in his home – there was no way that African girl was going to squat down and birth in his house. My mother then found out about a natural birthing centre in the neighbouring canton of Graubünden, and while she drove to take a look at it and loved the pink rooms and the deep birthing pools and the midwives in attendance, there was no one who was willing and able to drive her there once she was in labour (which I have now worked out via Google maps is only 1 hour and 23 minutes away!). So she settled for the very fancy and exclusive private hospital at Stefanshorn. My father wasn’t at my birth. I was a planned pregnancy. Very much so. I was very much hoped for and wanted, but it was an unusual arrangement of sorts. I’ll let you in on a little secret. You see, my father was married to someone else when he met my mother and he stayed married to his first wife (my parents actually never married) while embarking on a relationship with my mother. My mother was a staunch feminist at the time and had all sorts of theories about different ways of having relationships and so they embarked on an ‘open relationship’ – which my father’s wife was actually rather reluctant about. So the plan was for my father to impregnate my mother and that she would be a single mother and that he would be a long distant parent and visit once a month or when time and travel allowed him. My father lived in England and in South Africa at the time. My father wasn’t at my birth. He was in England at the time, at home with his wife. My mother was admitted a week before her due date to be induced for no medical reason other than that her doctor was going to be away on holiday. She was admitted on my father’s wife’s birthday, which his wife always saw as a personal affront to her and made her resent my presence even more. My father wasn’t at my birth. A friend drove my mother to the hospital, but my mother was alone when she went into labour with me. I know that she laboured for twelve hours and that she had the latest in foetal heart monitoring technology strapped to her while she laboured. I know she laboured on her back. I also know that she held on to a little green Verdite statue. A little bust of an African woman. It had been given to her by a grateful woman my mother had counselled when my mother had volunteered as a rape counsellor in South Africa. I know that this little statue was a lifeline back to South Africa for my mother while she laboured. My father wasn’t at my birth. He was in England at the time, at home with his wife and while she hung out a load of wet laundry he snuck a call to my mother and shouted instructions on how to breathe through the heavy...
Read MoreBungie Jumping Baby
It was her third baby and first home birth and she had created a beautiful warm cave for herself in her bedroom. Dim lights. Birth pool. Candles. Lovely burning oils. Hypnobirthing cd playing in the background. Safe and warm and cosy. But labour had slowed down since she had gotten to fully dilated and we waited patiently for labour to pick up again. And it just didn’t. And so the difficult decision was made to move to the nearby hospital to seek assistance. I packed the car while Marianne stayed with the labouring mother and once we were ready to go, we made the slow shuffle across the much colder and starker open plan kitchen/dining area/sitting room to the front door. The slow shuffle of a labouring woman. A few slow steps forward and then stop to swing her hips as a contraction surges through her. After a few steps, the baby’s head was suddenly on her perineum. BOOM! Plans changed…baby was going to be born on the kitchen floor. I ran to get our equipment out of the car again and then knelt down behind the mother who was standing and rocking her hips. Marianne and I sat, to the back and either side of the mother, averting our eyes so as not to make the mother feel observed, waiting for the head to emerge. But then out of the corner of my eye I saw the entire baby shoot out of her mother in one big push. Reflexes I didn’t know I had dived to catch the baby, centimetres before she hit the floor. Old classmates will attest to the fact that I was no good at catching balls at school. But catching babies…well…I think this particular birth was certainly an initiation of...
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