I want to go fast, but I must go slow.
Slow is not something I know how to do.
Slow is undervalued, practically non-existent in our society of fast, reckless doing.
I watch the buds emerging from the oak trees on this quiet Sunday morning.
“Not quite”, She says. “They are not ready. We all must wait our turn in the process of becoming.”
She never hurries.
“Everything in it’s in own time”, She says, including you.
The birds sing a morning song over last night’s rain as it drips slowly from mossy green branches, bare from winter’s wrath. Stripped naked, to their essence with only the essentials remaining to stay alive. They know She will provide exactly what they need, when they need it. They live in complete trust, in complete flow and surrender of Life.
Some of them look dead. But with a close eye you can spot tiny buds willing themselves to Life. Outstretching their arms to receive the light. We all know this feeling. Something within us, even in face of despair, wants to live.
A misty haze fills the air. There is mystery in everything She creates. A knowing and an unknowing existing in every moment, all at once. Nothing is in isolation.
I can feel myself healing. Budding forth. I both want this and don’t want this. I imagine this is the experience of every baby waiting to be born. A dread mixed with elation. A recoiling and an expansion. A new life and a death. Uncertainty and hope. Spring personified. I imagine the birds singing for both the exaltation of Spring, the absolute knowing that Life must unfold, and the death of winter. An end to the warmth and trust of the dark womb. Everything existing all at once.
The birth must happen.
Despite all we might have endured in the womb. The epigenetics, the inherited trauma, the fear, the stress, the overwhelm of living in a world not meant for mothering. We can palpably feel our pores opening to the ways in which our mothers were not mothered, not cared for, or held in their becoming. We are susceptible and open to all of it, both the beauty and horror that is Life. We are both pure light and darkness, even before we are born. We are being molded, shaped, prepared for a unique life. Perhaps being trained for what lays beyond the womb, an early preparation equipping us with the seed of skills and abilities that will help carry us forth. Our personal myth being written from stars. Each with our own unique path and blueprint for our lives. We must know and be prepared for all that we will encounter. Training in utero.
We are faced with but one truth, we must birth.
We cannot defy Nature.
And so, against all odds, all fears, all doubts, we spring.
We make our way down the long dark tunnel into Life.
We initiate ourselves, as we must.
It is all we know how to do.
We take the exquisite risk.
We put all of our trust into Life.
We know who we are.
Regardless of how we burst forth into this world, we arrive in purity.
Like a cherry fragrant blossom, a soft red tulip, we exist in wonder, awe, and light.
We are whole and true.
We are light and the promise of life everlasting.
We are born from Mother.
And we still are.
We still know.
This is our Nature.
We are the Light of this world.
Do not forget who you are and from whence you came.
Remember.
I remember who I am.
I cry in vulnerability.
I understand the power of forgiveness.
In the pain and ecstasy of Life, I give birth to myself and grieve who I used to be.
Everything existing,
All at once.
“Only boldness can deliver us from fear. If the risk is not taken, the meaning of life is violated.” Jung
