I write so I don't forget, and I almost forgot to write this, until the feeling visited me again today, in much the same way. Thus, here it is. I won't put it off any longer.
I am not a fan of birthday celebrations for grown ups. To me, most days are another day and all the planning and coordinating and what have you bring more stress than it is worth. I once actually took off my sister's bumper as I backed out of my parent's drive way on my own birthday, and then I cried pregnant and tired. It reinforced my logic on birthdays.
Same goes for anniversaries and holidays. You can celebrate anything on any day of your choosing. My theory on dates is backed up by practice: I forget to congratulate others. One particular year I forgot it was my own birthday. Many a times I have had to pause and think about the day of the month that I begrudgingly entered this world. --ask my mother, she'll tell you, it was with some coercion that I decided to cooperate at birth. She tells me every year.
So I have gone along in life forgetting things, I'm good at that. I still have to try very hard not to forget my own mother's birthday, consequences not the best in that case. Been there done that. She didn't seem to agree with my personal theories on this case.
To the point. Or closer to it. When it gets closer to the kids' birthdays I think to myself. X amount of years ago at this time I was... and I can tell you exactly what. With Emma I was practicing yoga at home to candle light, practicing Hypnobirthing, and trying not to be too anxious for labor. Birth tub arrived... I know where I was, what I did and how she was born. It brings mixed emotions, but it brings a lot of happiness more than anything.
The same happens as October progresses. I remember the day before labor started. I did a 'welcoming' yoga meditation and practice. I went into labor that night and I labored alone and in peace. I took Emma out for a walk to the zoo the next day and turned around half way through when I know labor would only get stronger.I insisted on Thai for dinner, on the way to the Birth Center in active labor and that turned out not to be such a great idea.
In general the days before the labor were always full of peace. That's what adjective I'd choose if I had to. The births, a different story in my case but that is not the point of this piece.
So, here I am in my world of 'birthdays don't matter' and I decide to do a yoga practice on my own. "It'll be a nice stretch." It's not hot yoga but it's still a great class.The energy and guidance of Zeek at the Sunday LVAC class is a privilege to share and enjoy.
An hour and several animals later; on we go through the bendy class with tailbones to the sky; giggling at jokes and taking in mantras along the way.
It is now Savasana. I find myself actually letting go and *gasp* not interrupting myself; as much. I am then enveloped by a thought. More so a feeling, to which words do little justice. Read on, I'll do my best to explain.
It is my birthday. On the 22nd day of the first month of the year 29 years ago my own mother felt the light and joy and peace of an explosion of innocence, wisdom and ultimate love as I took my first breath.
With my third eye I see a baby in the womb, surrounded by life energy. It breathes the same energy in and out 'in practice' for what is to come. There is no human more present than the unborn. There was no worries of food, warmth and sorrows.
I interrupt myself to wonder if this is what "after life" must feel like (Maybe that's why corpse). So much to that name actually makes sense. I digress; if that is the feeling and absence of thought in the next world and/or what awaits before re-incarnation, or whatever... Rock on!! Please be!! Contentment, happiness, joy, peace, fulfillment, the ultimate state of nature, Nirvana, "the force." All of it, only ONE. It's there. Before the breath. Or in the practice of the breath since before we were born.
I now see: My birthday is not important to me. It is important to my mother because of me and to me because of my children. When I became a mother not only did I love my baby, but I understood Love.
There is something so very special about a birthday not because of what day one was born but because of what essence we all bring into this world. On that day someone became a mother and someone felt the pulse of life's waves, strengthening, calling through her veins, rolling onto over and through her. A body worked to bring forth life and all else was trivial. In the mist of her hard work in labor; and her mother's labor with her; and her mother's mother's labor before her, we are all one with the Light.
Next thing I know, eyes closed in a packed class I cried silent tears of pure Joy.
What a birthday Present.
*with special gratitude to Zeek, to mothers, and the universe.
*In loving remembrance of Jen, Kalena and Sheryl.
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