Randomly burst out crying in prayer because a memory of my second day in Egypt (October 2011) resurfaced. It’s so terrifying when you don’t have the space or language to give form to your fears so they haunt you like disembodied spirits.
That’s why I jump at every opportunity to write down my inspirations and reflections. It feels like a part of me is coming home while another part of me recognizes the home she already dwells in but didn’t grasp.
Like a midwife, I deliver what has gestated in me, others, the planet. The words just plant themselves on me like birds or butterflies. I guess they find a secure home in my unconditional presence.
Sometimes the labour pains come in the form of sobbing, other times in the form of sudden sleepiness or unbelievable ache in the body, like heavy rain clouds.
But I always welcome it, albeit with gritted teeth. I don’t know how long it’ll take before I can see what’s toiling to get out, but I remain present with no expectations but hope. But most importantly, I trust what wants to be born and yet doesn’t know how to make itself known. Suppressed feelings are sorta clumsy and frail, not unlike newborns. I receive the unpleasant first impression and see what’s beyond that even though I can’t see. But I’ve come to trust pain in all its forms, and befriended it even though I’m extremely sensitive and scared of pain. I shut off my thoughts and focus on being a tunnel of light.
The other night I had a peculiar dream. I was addressing a young doctor who was frustrated with some patients. I think she was a freshly minted doctor. I told her, listen you won’t always be able to get to the bottom of people’s ailments and complaints but keep one thing in mind: the deepest desire of humans is to find connection in any form. Sometimes that can take the form of being silent and letting them feel seen by your silence, the lack of protest. If you can give them that, you’ve given them a way back to God.