(Self-Portrait of Adultery)
Transition is a genetics term which defines a specific point mutation. In more general terms the transition defines the passage, passing from one state to another. For years I have been interested in the topic of birth and within its context, the transition means a specific stage in the normal process of the physiological birth. The passage between the active part (labour contractions) and the actual birthing part – pushing the baby out. What is more exciting for me however is the psychic side of this process and passage. The transition is the shortest and at the same time the most intensive and difficult to overcome part of labour. This is the span of time when consciously or more often not, the woman realizes that there is no going back. What is about to happen will happen – regardless of her will, abilities, attitudes, preparation, assisting team, physical and emotional support, etc.
This is the time when the woman faces the awareness that she has no control any more. And this is how it should be. This is the only possible way to pass this stage and continue forward, to give way to the new life. The woman should be able to open herself, to let herself to the process. To dissolve, free herself in order to allow the energy to pass freely through her and become a material event. To accept that it is not only her, she is a part of a more complex process and she is only the medium through which the actual event happens. We do not birth the babies; they are birthing themselves through us.
These are those intensive moments
when the birthing mother faces her deepest fears, her most suppressed truths, loneliness, helplessness, panic, the horror of death. The moment when most of us cry frantically “I’m going to die” and oh, how right we are! When a new life comes into the world through us, an old, selfish existing, free and self-sufficient Self of ours irrevocably leaves our life to make room for the new more extensive understanding of power, love and unconditional surrender. For myself. To create space for the birthing of the Mother. By giving birth we birth not only our babies, but we ourselves are also born for the new life. We are born as Mothers.
During the transition, the woman is the most helpless and at the same times the least conscious of her own vulnerability. The transition is that status filled with primary impulses and forces where there is no matter whether we are exquisite, beautiful, cultural and other social labels; this the time when we just ARE – wild women focused into our most primary and supreme function. To carry and give life, to continue life, to preserve life. To be Life. Eva
– – – – – – – – –
The text that follows is not about birthing, or at least not about the biological side of birthing. It is however about a passage equally hard, a deeply vulnerable period of my existence which shattered the foundations of my deep believes, around which I had forged my life, my family, myself.
Very strong structures of mine were destroyed which turned out to be too weak in front of the reality of the events that followed. In a particularly brutal way, I had to realize that it is not just about me and in spite of this or just because of this I had to be myself more than ever. Because when making his way to the new world, the birthing Baby-Spirit, the symbol of the new with unexpected cruelty fights for his right to live. Unscrupulously tears, opens up, sweeps away and pushes everything out of his way to take his breath of air and announce his presence. When this happens we are helpless and nothing more depends solely on us. Only the care to keep this spirit and though our mind gets deeply confused we still succeed to protect ourselves from this disarray and keep our soul clean and clear.
Mystery is not about travelling to new places but about looking with new eyes.
I don’t know what and how to write but if I don’t I’m going to explode. This story eviscerated me; the guts of my female entity are spread around my ankles and I stumble over them without knowing how to take them in and put them back in order. I’m not beginning beautifully. And what I’m passing through is not beautiful either. And it doesn’t need to be. It is the way it is and I have to find at least a bit of humility within me to go on. I’m sure there is some buried deep inside me. Humility. I know it is there; I just need some more time and pain to reach it.
She is magnificent. You called her Heavenly creature. Maybe you still call her this way. After the chaos of lies, insults, anger and tearing pain I probably just got tired to seek and find your impossibility to not be with Her in your thoughts. Your impossibility to be eager enough to be with me. She is a Heavenly creature. White, graceful, airy and light, bringing the charge of a bird with crying feathers and strong twisted claws; sitting down with opened dense thighs stuck in sand; not asking, just demanding what’s due…How could I blame you for responding? Yet I can…I understand that you can’t burden another human being with your own expectations. And yet I have done it…
– – – – – – – – –
I was a Goddess…
Now I rip through you and me and our time together, breaking the continuum and ploughing my soul deeper and deeper in the impossibility to be a part of you, to be you. There is no us, everything is one and the horror and pain of this unity shall turn into a divine breath. Now I’m old and weak and this is a sign of my love for myself, for you and what I believed we had. My breasts are saggy from the weight of our children, my belly is torn by stretch marks, and my loose skin has pulled my navel a few centimetres below the place it used to be before you and us.
I carried life within me twice and with you, alone, you and I, we both took into our trembling hands these throbbing, warm slippery creatures, torn from the depths of my womb and the heat of my vagina. We plunged into the horror of the first breath and the black-purple newborn skin trembling with the insecurity of the life and death border. I opened up completely. I gave up to you my most painful vulnerability and stood naked, bleeding, crying in front of you. Birthing the fruits of our love.
And I don’t think this is something unusual and perfect.
Only my delusion that I have touched the truth was perfect. The belief that we have strived to the divine providence and grand grace has poured into the four of us, and this would make us untouchable. I was deprived of this belief and nothing else before and after in my life has ever hurt me so much. No one else has ever hurt me as you have. For despite all good and bad things, beyond the daily routines I bared my bones in front of you and handed you my power. And I know that you are weak to carry such burden and distress.
No one is strong enough to remain in the uniform, familiar, his own and dig and discover more and more where everything is ploughed and already discovered. Except for the Goddess-Mother. And me, because I’m a woman, goddess and mother and this trinity occurs at the same time. Not every woman is Mother and not every mother is Goddess. I have been the three of them and with you, I’m the three in one, here and now. Within this trinity lies my greatest power. Within this trinity hides my greatest weakness.