born

Spring is upon us, with its bursting magnolia flowers, brave clusters of grape hyacinth, yellow-gold evening light– with all its aching newness. So much, unfurling. From under the mulch and the deep brown, cracking through what is hardened and dormant.
Renewal. Reincarnation. Birth. So much, being born.

And what does it mean, to be born? Think of it. The process of incubation required. The growing, the gathering. To be ready. Ready to move through that which is lightless and writhing. To push, to journey. To take a chance on not knowing. The ragged instinct, determined nature; invisible power. To expand; to find liberation. To become more realized. Yes, to become. To be embodied.

Perhaps being born isn't something that only happens once. Each time we are wresting ourselves from the dark terrain of our minds, souls, lives… Each time we are gripped and constrained by forces outside of us– hardship, challenge– and every time we have to fight… To be alive... To be more alive...
Indeed, you have been born, and again, born, countless times throughout your wondrous years. You have been born of and born to. Born by and born for.
And you have borne. Think of it.

Springtime comes just as violently as it does beautifully. With its mudslides, its stark cold after dusk, its impatience, its breaking branches, its egg-filled bird nests ransacked by other hungry creatures. All in the fervent name of life, of release. Emergence.

Perhaps when we talk about healing, we’re talking about being born. You, from something; or something, from you. Again and again, this toilsome, gorgeous, nonlinear process of moving through that which is constricted, painful, fearsome, unknown. Into a greater freedom, greater capacity. To breathe. To be. To be alive.