Forge On

Before I gave birth to my second child, I spiraled inside of myself over and over again to work out any deeply held fears about how her birth would unfold.

“What if I had to transport to the hospital?”

“What if I had to have another c-section?”

“”What if the hospital treats me horribly?”

It wasn’t that I feared birth.  But that I feared the road of going through a traumatic hospital birth again.   Or, more precisely, I feared that momentary loss of power and dignity and conscientious care.

It was my brutally wise friend who said “Well then, GO there.  Walk through that fear as if you are living it.  See it, feel it, smell it all.   Work out the details.  And then, be done.   After that, you will have let the fear and worry go because you will have already lived it”. 

And so, a willing student, I did.

I imagined, with visceral knowing, the initial conversations and dreadful decisions.  I drummed up the car ride; silent and dark, with a hint of moon overhead.   I saw in my mind the kind and gentle eyes of the doctor who would greet me.   I noticed that my arms were not strapped down and that my mind was suddenly clear and that everyone surrounding me was glowing with the gold light and loving intentions.  I imagined I dug down in my very bones to pull out wild, raw strength and trust and clarity. I felt my breath lodged in my throat and the scalpel upon my womb.  I heard the song of her cry and felt her immediately on my chest.   She stayed there, our eyes meeting for the first time (or perhaps the 100th time).  My placenta came home with me.

And we survived.  We did it.

And then, after playing out this scene that I dreaded, I exhaled and let go of this story as if it were a balloon on a just-cut string.   Off to the cosmos it floated.   And I was able to sink back into the Now of the final weeks of my pregnancy;  preparing by washing towels and picking out the sheets I’d snuggle up in just minutes after she was born in our bedroom {pink ones for immediately after birth and high-thread-count deep ocean blue ones for later that night}.


And so I’ve decided…

If Romney gets elected, he will fall fast asleep that night.   Something will cause him to stir in the middle of the night and he will awaken.  And as if a bolt of lightning flashed, he will announce to his heart:

“I was just kidding about all of that.   Boy, was I wrong and disillusioned. Lots of things matter in this world:  economics and peace and unemployment and money to bolster education. But nothing is more important and fundamental than human rights, than love beyond dogma.  Dude, how did I ever think that any of those other issues could be tackled without the foundation of dignity and compassion for all walks of life?  Game over.  Let the Love begin!  From here on out, I shall be called rOMney.”

As an alternate reality, I also have played out this scene:

Romney doesn’t change his misogynistic and egocentric views.   But it doesn’t really matter anyways because no one is going to be successful at dehumanizing and further demoralizing those on public assistance.  No one will be able to shove their personal beliefs far enough up our wombs to take away the right to decide when and how women should make reproductive decisions.   No rally cry would be loud enough to deny humans (and my closest friends) the ability to love, marry, and create families with whoever the hell they want.

No, he does not have this power.  We will not give it to him, you see.  Our resolute and innate gift of freedom pierce deeper than beliefs and “I don’t wannas” and attempts to squash the persevering and ever-powerful human spirit.  The whole is greater than the sum of the parts its made of.

And we are,  inarguably and undeniably, Whole.  Perfectly Whole regardless of some parts of humanity that seem to think otherwise.  And our Whole is always greater than them.

He may own a bit of History but not Ourstory.  And that, dearest bright souls, is what we are making.


So, rest easy.   Visualize a future without Him.   Or, if you must go there, visualize a future with him.  But just you go ahead and be the author of that story.

Rewrite it, rework it, and make it fucking shine.


One Comment Add yours

Show Some Love

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s