Rebekka's soft voice belies her fiery nature. She is an elegant balance of sensitivity and ferocity. Namely, she ferociously defends the sensuous, sensitive, and vulnerable. Now she is expecting. A new life is being born in her, and another life has just passed away from her on the eve of my arrival. She has also just returned from her first Overnight with a group on the land.
We have very little time together. There is something strange and archetypal about our meeting, there is both pause and rush, urgency and calm. The sounds of students outside the bar down stairs rise and fall with the background rhythm of clacks and rumbles on the cobblestone street below. I am standing in a room whose objects have yet to find their place yet. There is an antique baby-carriage filled with pillows, cd's, and clothes. Six-month pregnant Rebekka is leaning over her bed. She is packing her suitcase with black to attend the funeral of her fiance's father. Three months from now she will be holding her motherhood in her arms.
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