Started my birthday out with a light breakfast and then yoga class. I know you are not supposed to think about anything during yoga. Still I thought about birth because is my birthday--61 years and counting. I thought about my niece who learned yesterday she'll deliver a little girl in May. Then I thought about my three daughters and my six siblings. Then the concept of birth and rebirth climbed into my head like a restless toddler. I fixated on that instead of my breathing.
Optimistically I have 1/3 of my life remaining--thirty years. Thirty years is a shorter time period than it was thirty years ago. At that time my oldest daughter was four years old...and we were less than halfway through the pregnancy of my second one with one more yet to be created. It's interesting to tick off the events--look back and remember Jenny, for instance. Her bounce of golden curls, her precocious temperament, her stubborn refusals, her loving kisses. Skipping down the sidewalk with her, crossing 'Jennifer's Way' to our next door neighbor's for tea or an afternoon sherry (they were quite British, you know). It seems like a different era altogether but my point is that thirty years is still a very long time. So, why the panic? Lots of weeks, months and years to decide what I want to do when I grow up.
So, in yoga I decided to declare this Birth Day a day for re-birth. A scary proposition since I haven't thought much about it until now. But also an exciting one. Expounding for a moment on the word 'birth' I came up with the following:
Tiny fingers and toes
Tiny green leaves
Birth: the completion of creation. A communion between a father and a mother, a grain of pollen and a stigma, a teacher and a student's mind, an artist and a palette of paint, a musician and a handful of notes--a heart and a soul--each giving part of themselves so that what they are can live on.
Birth: the beginning of creation.
Happy Birth Day to me!