Giving birth

Birth is the single moment in which we lay ourselves open to a whole new series of pains and joys. Upon giving birth, we become an open wound for the rest of our lives. An open wound because every child that perishes, every sad thing that happens to another small person becomes more REAL for us. Because the intensity of joy and love we feel for these helpless (soon to be independent) creatures is almost more than the human spirit can bear. Becoming a parent changes us in ways that one can never imagine before we hold that wee child in our arms.
And the birthing process is different for us all.... for some it comes in the form of adoption papers and visits and waiting. For me, it came in the form of pregnancy and discomfort and kicks in the ribs. But it's a form of birthing either way.

This was at Diana Jenner's blog today:
~"Though I know desperate sadness lives in me, so does immense joy; in this life, I choose happiness over any misplaced misery."~

It made me think of some writings I love......
Kahil Gibran described our sorrow as a channel that cuts a groove within us. The deeper the groove, the more space for joy. Joy and sorrow are interwoven, the yin and yang of life.

We birth art, we birth stories, we re-birth ourselves.
I'm faltering at the birthing process here lately. There is a character and a story that is whispering to me. I hear her story weaving itself in my mind, yet struggle with how to start, how to tell it RIGHT.
A dear friend promised to be my "kick in the ass" when I need it, to help me birth this particular story. I fear I will not do it justice. The story is beautiful, the character rich and interesting. She is an important figure and her story needs to be told. I'm not sure that I'm the vessel that is capable of birthing it fully. Yet I must try.
She is with me at all times now. Reading at Diana's blog may loose some of my fears, help me embrace the story that needs to be told, help me hear her song.

A friend of Diana's lost their child once upon a time. Here is the song one of the parents of this child wrote:

_The Recall_ by Rabindinath Tagore

The night was dark when she went away, as they slept.
The night is dark now, and I call for her,
"Come back my darling. The world is asleep;
And no one would know if you came for a moment
While stars are gazing at stars."

She went away when the trees were in bud and the Spring was young.
Now, the flowers are in high bloom and I call,
"Come back my darling. The children gather and scatter flowers in reckless sport.
And if you come and take one little blossom, no one will miss it."

Those that used to play are playing still, so spendthrift is life.
I listen to their chatter and call,
"Come back my darling, for mother's heart is full to the brim with love.
And if you come to snatch only one little kiss from her,
No one will grudge it."