From what I understand, a gentleman came in to lead a meditation called "Re-birthing" in which one is guided through the depth of your origins (almost reliving early experiences lost in the subconscious). Some people are brought all the way back to their actual birth. One girl felt really relaxed, groovy even, with just some slight tension around her head. She discovered later that her mother was on intense pain medication when she was giving birth and had to hold the baby in as the head was starting to come out until someone could come catch the child. Two other ladies felt terrible cramps and their hands started to twist up. Some people started coughing...
...which means they probably had my birthing experience. I was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck. So, I tell people that I came into this world choking... I wonder if it's not, perhaps, a good thing that I missed the meditation.
I wrote a poem in college about my feelings on the circumstances under which I was brought to life:
October 4, 1981 at some ungodly hour of the morning
O n e tiny
u n i v e r s e
per nanosecond,
f e m t o m e t e r.
T h i s p l a c e
i s
where time is all that crosses
the black matter and s p a c e.
Only she could hear my c r y i n g.
The l o v e p l a i t was frantically
tossed to retrieve me from the
darkness that cloaked my unblinded
eyes. I was too frightened and weak,
to grab hold but she tugged and yanked at
the tangled cords of my cell. I was lassoed around
the n e c k; the beads of healthy prayers rattled snug against
my tissue paper skin. I stopped crying and blinked furiously against
motion and traveled without trying. A hissing star filled the lack of light and
I felt many faerie fingers flutter and carry me to somewhere hard and cold. The noises,
gd, the noises of cloth scratching flesh and the skin covered boxes vibrating Vibrating
vibrating. I watched the world melt into panicked movement as the tightness around my
throat loosened. I
could s e e some-
thing like windows
that shed nothing
but warmth. But
the windows of
my father’s house
reflected some-
one other than
me.
O n e tiny
u n i v e r s e
per nanosecond,
f e m t o m e t e r.
T h i s p l a c e
i s
where time is all that crosses
the black matter and s p a c e.
Only she could hear my c r y i n g.
The l o v e p l a i t was frantically
tossed to retrieve me from the
darkness that cloaked my unblinded
eyes. I was too frightened and weak,
to grab hold but she tugged and yanked at
the tangled cords of my cell. I was lassoed around
the n e c k; the beads of healthy prayers rattled snug against
my tissue paper skin. I stopped crying and blinked furiously against
motion and traveled without trying. A hissing star filled the lack of light and
I felt many faerie fingers flutter and carry me to somewhere hard and cold. The noises,
gd, the noises of cloth scratching flesh and the skin covered boxes vibrating Vibrating
vibrating. I watched the world melt into panicked movement as the tightness around my
throat loosened. I
could s e e some-
thing like windows
that shed nothing
but warmth. But
the windows of
my father’s house
reflected some-
one other than
me.
It's an interesting notion that the way in which we are born effects us beyond what we find likely on a conscious level. I've heard that the feelings we undergo during birth effect how we view the world, how we respond to it. I suppose I must have been uncomfortable and afraid, but experiencing a feeling like choking, if you are rescued and start to breathe, must offer a sense of relief. I'd like to think that, since I was obviously saved, that I was taught to press into or beyond fear to better my chances of relief or survival.
I was reading another article in Parabola lately of a Taoist master who lives in a fascinating hermitage. Rather than live on a mountain somewhere, he finds a purer anonymity in the city. In NYC, he is just another person and no one pays attention to him. He says that those in the woods somewhere will be found, seem magical, attract followers, and then they are no longer living like a hermit.
He also mentions that a true Taoist is not this mellow bliss-following monk who looks for peace and relaxation. He says that, instead, a true Taoist can lean into the pain and turn it into something else:
I think of the serpent eating its own tail, that's a sage. You can take the lowest and transform it to the highest. You can take poison and turn it into medicine.
-interview with Sat Han, by Tracy Cochran, Parabola, Volume 34, No.2, page 54
-interview with Sat Han, by Tracy Cochran, Parabola, Volume 34, No.2, page 54
I don't know precisely what I was doing at the moment of my birth, but at this point in my life I hope that I can borrow from the life-thieves of Taoism and transcend any leftover trauma I've been carrying around, consciously or unconsciously.
I'm naturally thinking of the births of Anya's children. Lilia ought be able to gather from her birth the fact that she has a mother and father who would do anything to protect her, guide her from danger, and put her best interests first. Anya struggled for many hours with her, all the while focusing on how to preserve the best care for her daughter. With her new son, she finally took a time to rest... and that was when the boy slipped right out. I sense a consideration between mother and son, soul to soul, good friends.
Have you asked about your own birth? Like most of the events of our lives, I'm sure understanding where we've been can help inform where we've ended up...
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