The Incubated Life

Above

   beneath

and together

we incubate life.

Elaborate moments

manipulate love through the shadow

of love.

It is

a sweet death

   producing the blue void.

She swims in her enormous sea

drunk from water,

soaring the sky

sun lights her bare skin.

The moon shines like

a thousand petalled goddess.

Sing your telling music.

Chant this language of will.

Lusting for vision of raw beauty,

staring deliriously into a diamond,

a dream to be a mother.

True ache whispers within

as blood is felt.

The woman wants

yet never wants what is.

December, 2007

I wrote this again with my refrigerator magnets…I’m always inspired sitting in front of my fridge; it’s one of my many altars in my home.  As I was re-feng-shuing my freezer door, and changing my last poem, this one came and really took me by surprise.  It came from a place within where I am truly unsure.  As an adoptee who has yet to know the story of her birth, I often wonder and make up stories of the woman who gave birth to me 34 years ago.  What feelings did she feel when she found out she was pregnant?  Did she want me, but know that it was for the best to give me to a capable family?  Did she have the chance to put that time behind her, and grow up carefree, fall in love, get married, have children of her own whom she call son and daughter?  Do I feel the way I do now about my own reproductive choices (unsure, unclear, unable) because I am lost in the abyss of my birth mother’s unknown story?   I have friends who are trying so hard to create a family, and have been unsuccessful in producing a pregnancy.  It does not seem fair that for some who don’t try and don’t want…it often comes easy, and for those who want so deeply and badly, it is not possible in the way that we view the incubation of life and children to be. 

I have come to my own truth recently.  I am a mother, already.  I have incubated the life of a Yoga studio:  a community of wellness, support, and transformation.  And, in the midst of the pregnancy, birth, changing the shit diapers during infancy, the terrible twos, the fun times of seeing my child move into her own, and on to a greater independence, she has found her voice, her personality, and her own spirit.   It doesn’t necessarily get easier, but it does continue to shift and change as the pulse carrys us to new stages of growth and learning.  As Sheryl Crow reminds us, “it’s not having what you want, it’s wanting what you’ve got!”  That’s the trick!

All the world’s a stage…

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players:  they have their exits and their entrances and one man in his times plays many parts…”  Shakespeare

I remember memorizing this soliloquy in 7th grade, really never understanding it at the time.  I guess at that time I was playing the part of the school girl, rather than creeping to school with the shining morning face (as Jaques illustrates in his melancholy portrait of the second stage of man), I usually had to scream up to my mom that I had yet again missed the bus because I pushed the snooze one too many times.  At that stage of my life, I had no idea of the role that I was beginning to create for myself.  Even 10 years before this one, at the naive age of 24, the age of the woeful lover, I could never have contemplated this role that I am continuing to refine and rehearse.  I guess according to Jacques, I am now in the stage of the soldier (in my translation:  the warrior), standing on the spiritual battlefield of life like Arjuna from the Bhagavad Gita, trying to see all of life from his limited perspective.

Well, maybe life is not so dire as the ancient poets and philosophers saw it.  Perhaps, it’s actually more of a divine comedy…the “lila”… or divine play.  I am starting to not take it all too seriously, but at the same time, understand that this gift of this life is serious business. 

It’s sometimes too mindblowing to realize the fine middle point of serious play.  As Mary Oliver writes, “what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”  I am doing it…or am I?  I love my life, the community that I have created, the service that I provide to my little world (or big world…depending on how I view it on any given day), my relationships, my house, my dog, my altar, my yoga practice, my health…  My gratitude goes on, but at the same time, I feel compelled to do more, like there is a looming role that awaits my audition.

What is it that I plan to do with my one wild, precious life?  Am I in the midst of my second act, coming close to an intermission? Suddenly realizing that I don’t know the rest of my lines, this act feels a bit surreal.  Here I am…34 years old, and I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.  Does every actor come to this part in the play and just throw his hands up and say, “screw the script!”?

Maybe it’s not time for intermission.  There are still many acts ahead, waiting to be created.  Many actors and actresses integral to the core of my play are looming in the wings contemplating the perfect comedic timing.  Some of them are still in the dressing room, changing costumes, perfecting their stage make-up, eating a snack, awaiting their grand entrance.

When I was little, I wanted to be a dancer.  I remember the pagentry of our end of the year dance recitals.  The best was when I finally got to the age where I was helping out behind the scenes during the 3 day production.  I thought that I had really hit the big time, not only dancing on the Broadway-sized stage at Oven’s Auditorium, but also graduating to the role of telling the younger dancers where to go and what to do, so that their parents could watch a whole year’s worth of dance lessons accumulate into a 3 minute tap dance to “Yankee Doodle Dandee”. 

We each have our roles in the production.  Some, sit and watch and applaude the beauty of the dance.  Others are the dancers: creating, moving, entertaining.  Many more run around behind the scenes, prompting the process along, making sure that the performers take the cues and the lights hit the stage in the perfect way. 

I want it all…and I have had it all…nothings says that it can’t happen again.

_____________________________

Asana practice:  Sunday, January 6, 2008

• Lunge variations (hand to inside foot; parsva (side), played with it!)
• Ajaneyasana (worked thigh bone back, tailbone down)
• Vinyasas (with twisting Bhujangasana…creating lots of length and fun play)
• From lunge to hip opener (like pigeon prep)
• Parsvatonnasana
• Parivritta Trikonasana
• Seated hip openers (bow/arrow, baby cradle)
• Surya chakrasana (sun dial)
• Vishmavitrasana (pinnacle)