Released by Fire

The Cultural and Historical Significance of Cord Burning

watch the moment this cord released on our reel @mountaintime.mw

In our practice, we listen to the evidence, and honor the moments of transition from womb to world by delaying cord clamping. We wait until the cord has finished its work, pulsing the last of its blood into the baby, before cutting. Often the placenta has delivered before we even consider cutting the cord. When the moment comes, you will often hear me say, “You’re free. You are your own person!”

But, there’s a practice even more gradual, one that stretches this moment into minutes rather than seconds. Instead of scissors, the cord is severed by flame.

Cord burning is not new. Nearly two thousand years ago, the Greek physician Soranus of Ephesus described midwives using heat to cauterize cords. He didn’t recommend it himself, but his writings confirm that the method was already well known. In parts of Asia and Central Asia, fire was long seen as a purifying force. Tibetan and Chinese traditions tied flame to cleansing, protection, and sealing. In some communities, the practice wasn’t symbolic at all but pragmatic, as nomadic families could always create fire, while sterile blades weren’t always at hand. Flame offered a way to safely separate mother and baby. It also seals the cord’s blood vessels as it severs, lowering bleeding risks. In Central America, ethnographers have documented cord burning in Nicaragua, where traditional birth attendants used camphor flames both for hygiene and as a spiritual safeguard.

Modern cord burning looks a little different. You can get a wooden box or stand to hold the cord steady while a candle flickers below. Over several minutes, the cord smokes, stiffens, and finally releases. Unlike scissors, which end the connection instantly, fire draws the moment out. Families gather and watch quietly as the glow of the flame marks the baby’s first truly independent breath of life.

Recently, I was present at a birth where the family chose cord burning. I’ll admit, this isn’t a tradition I have felt particularly drawn to. But in the dark hours of the morning, the room fell into a reverent silence as the cord burned away. The light was soft, the pace unhurried, and it was lovely. It reminded me that medicine has taken up so much of the space in birth where meaning once lived.

This Leo baby also reminded me of the elemental nature of birth. Babies come to us through water, they land on earth, and their lungs fill with air. In the burning of the cord, the final element appears: fire. The ritual draws together all four elements, a reminder that birth is not just a physical event but a deeply symbolic passage.

Cord burning is not for everyone, but it is worth acknowledging that this ancient practice still lives on, linking us to the countless families before us who have welcomed new life with firelight. It is one more way to remember that birth is not only about beginnings, but about the ways we choose to honor them.