Carrying

 

I have found that I have a hard time consciously changing. Aging has revealed some patterns of behavior that have surprised me with their intractable nature. It appears that elements of my former identity are not easily transformed. Some old aspects of me, have really grown old. This is bringing about a wonderful discovery. It seems I am pregnant with an emerging self. Since, I am a male, I’ve never quite had an experience like this, and I am shaken with the challenge of carrying this latency. This is what I want to focus my attention on here: the challenge of carrying a new vulnerable and more aware being.

 

Growth is an organic process. So, carrying, as in harboring what is coming to pass, isn’t new. But, it is new in my awareness. I have to credit growing older with this burgeoning awareness. I am now capable of being aware of what I was not aware of before. Unbidden, it seems that my consciousness is being re-worked, and I can feel my growth process like never before. This has plus and minus qualities. Even as I age, I am growing, re-discovering how easy and how hard it can be. 

 

At the moment, my attention is riveted upon my role in the process. This is where a lot of the hardness is located, for me. To insure, that something better comes out of me to replace a life-long pattern, I’ve got to uneasily carry what I hope is developing within. I am learning about what that takes.

 

Naturally, I have been sensitized to the tremendously mysterious aspects of pregnancy. Women, who have gone through a similar vulnerable time, when they are at the mercy of the uncertainties of Life, have undergone a particular form of initiation, that I admire and honor even more intently now. While giving birth to another human is totally miraculous, it isn’t the same as the equally precarious process of giving birth to one’s self. The outcome is less discrete, and perhaps more iffy.

 

So, while I can turn to good female friends who have given birth, and had to go through carrying the unborn, for advice. The process of carrying a developing self, is more idiosyncratic and exacting. Everyone has to go through it — but each in their own way. Feeling the support of female human beings — who have made possible the generations before now — I have to turn to the private initiation we have to endure, to give birth to the future.

I have learned that it is my grief, chagrin, and embarrassment that feed this internal pregnancy. I have to come to terms with the past, and let go. Strangely, it is my pain that is the life-blood of this metamorphosis. I have to give up control, but not caring. I get to feel some ambiguous unfolding, but I don’t get to know what. Mystery is having its way. I am being reduced, giving up illusions about myself, while being grown into a new larger, hopefully more compassionate being. Old skin is giving way, making room, for the new. I am pleased with my unfolding potential, while feeling the grief of what I have to let go of.

 

Currently, I’m in-between. Neither what I used to be, nor what I’m becoming. Some indigenous folks refer to this stage as being the one defined by ‘being the un-dead and the un-born.” I can relate. I feel a little like a zombie, still doing the old behavior, but without much zest. I can also attest to carrying the un-born. Death and re-birth. All in its own time.

 

All I have to do, is what a pregnant woman does — be patient, don’t miscarry, and endure a certain amount of discomfort. In each case, the mantra is “may I live long enough.” Carrying requires a humble stillness, a letting go into Mystery. 

 

Hush! Something is cooking!