I only have 2 hours before I have to head to the airport and I promised myself I would.

Whenever I'm in Boston, I make a personal pilgrimage. A journey to the place where my daughter was almost born.

Kwanjai, came into the world in a birthing center in Cambridge. She passed through the gate into this world while her mother was performing an incredible yogic back-arch. True story.

Kwanjai was almost born at the entrance to the condo where I used to live in Jamaica Plain.
Something happened in that entryway, that night when Kwanjai came into the world. Something that's hard to put into words but very real.

Miracles are personal things. Sometimes they happen to the masses but I think more often they happen quietly; sometimes to a few, sometimes to an individual.

When it was time for Kwanjai to be born, her mother and I needed help. Mary called on the Goddess and help came in the form of Lisa, Lisa and Anne Valiant.

It was dark and cold the night Kwanjai was born; there'd been a blizzard and there was snow burying all the cars. There was no way I could carry Mary and the bags and dig the car out. We made it trough the entrance-way of the apartment building and a contraction hit and Mary went down in the snow. Something happened at that moment. Like light coming down to the Earth. I don't know what it was. But a couple of girls happened to be out in front having a smoke. Lisa, a nurse, helped me support Mary and get her up. The other Lisa and her friend went and dug the car out. We were on our way in 15 minutes.

Nurse Lisa rode with us to the hospital. I think its the only reason Mary didn't deliver in the car.

What happened after we got to the birthing center was fast, really crazy and amazing. Our Doula, Anne Valiant really lived up to her name as she delivered my daughter.

But something happened at that spot. That spot infront to of my old apartment.

Whenever I'm in Boston, I make a pilgrimage, to a place where something miraculous happened.