all the good stuff feels so scary

15 May

right before the birthing starts for real,

the body shakes and trembles

independent from all thought

flesh holds the fearing and the quaking on its own

at the precipice of seeming choice

the movement forward into irreversible transitions

stepping into new lands

the stomach empties

the muscles tremble

the bones rattle

what is this occurring?

what is happening?

what does my body know that my mind won’t let be said?

birth death long distance travel

we have traversed the universe, flying into bodies

as souls

at break neck speeds,

but here now imbibed in flesh, a short leap

to the other side of the world feels treacherous

a releasing of a child’s hand into heavy traffic

a speeding car and screeching tires

for effect

for a vision in the mind’s cinema

of a child run over in the street –

the movie is the body’s mechanism

for caution

do I watch the screen or

do I

leap into the lava in this life

feel the burn of every radical departure

fear bathed, I spend – I send – I quake – I release

I answer the invitation that arrives on my doorstep

I say yes yes yes, despite the recklessness my body tells me is occurring

one night in bangkok will be my daughter’s song

away from me, flesh away from me,

I overrule the tremble

I step on newly hatched legs

every day a glimpse of death’s transition

hinting at farther realms

the body can never grasp


13 Responses to “all the good stuff feels so scary”

  1. Hariod Brawn May 15, 2015 at 3:12 pm #

    Perhaps birth is scary for good reason Marga, and the body grasps that which the mind resists entertaining. I have seen birth and death occur simultaneously, and that experience remains utterly profound even though in memory. Entering “the world feels treacherous” indeed, because it is. H ❤

    • marga t. May 16, 2015 at 12:56 pm #

      I have been in such rooms with you H. In memory or in worry for these touch points of the treacherous nature of life, “someone” feels so endangered, but the reality of these moments to me felt like the body provided a lifeboat to carry me on and each “scary” moment just strung along to the next now moment, wholly unlike what the mind imagined of such experiences. I also hear a non-dual questioning arising in regards to danger: Who feels it is in danger? Who will die in this moment?
      Still the body holds onto its life, fighting to keep on going, trembling all the while. I may not make sense, the way my words wander around – I type these words to you like a wandering scout, in a field not in my guidebook. So grateful for your words, dear lady! xo!m

      • Hariod Brawn May 16, 2015 at 1:59 pm #

        We each find our own words in futile bids to match the intensity of such experiences Marga; I am sure we would agree that none are more appropriate than others. In any case, the circumstances are unique as they present to the uniqueness of the characters involved. Probably the least understanding words of sympathy are “I understand”, and I thank you for having the wisdom and sensitivity to not offer them.

        You rhetorically ask: “Who feels it is in danger? Who will die in this moment?” And yet as obviously you are well aware, and so I speak for the two of us, there need be no enduring subject-entity for feeling and/or death to occur. The body does experience feeling, and so too does it decay and die. This is not philosophy, but just the way things are. As we both understand, Nondualism is not a denial of any appearances, and the appearances of selfhood do not subsist ‘outside’ the non-dual, for how could that possibly make sense – a phenomenon ‘outside’ a unicity? The play of subjectivity/objectivity is no more than an appearance itself, an illusory occurrence yet within the unicity of all there is.

        In my own experience of birth-death, the overwhelming emotions were those of love and deep sadness; I mean a visceral and almost brutalising sadness, one which reached into the very depths of the human condition, of what I am. The whole was held in a tender love, a softness which resisted nothing and embraced the sadness in some inexplicable way. The dynamics of the whole experience played out over many months, mainly as an interrupted series of returns to the deeply physical sadness, as if a switch had been thrown ‘on’, then switched ‘off’ moments later. Out of nowhere, a deep groaning exhalation, then the light mundanity of making a mug of tea.

        Thank you so much Marga. H ❤

  2. melinda blair May 15, 2015 at 9:47 pm #

    So beautifully expressed. Thank you. Mx

    • marga t. May 16, 2015 at 12:57 pm #

      Thank you for wading through this stream! 🙂 xo! m

  3. Alison and Don May 16, 2015 at 2:28 am #

    I’m in tears over your post as it connects me to the truth. All this will end one day, dissolve back into nothingness, so I find myself grieving the loss of what never was. It’s all good. It’s better than pretending.

    • marga t. May 16, 2015 at 1:01 pm #

      It IS better than pretending, what a good reminder! – so amazing how this realization of death washes over so completely, at times. What a strange trip, this life! (this post was prompted by some travel I have been arranging for my daughter to Thailand. As soon as the ticket was bought, my body was quaking, much like the transition before the entrance to the birth canal I remember from her treacherous birth. – You intrepid traveler, perhaps you can send me some peace to quell this mama bear’s nerves about danger:)
      xo!! m

      • Alison and Don May 16, 2015 at 4:50 pm #

        I send what peace I have, willingly. To paraphrase Hariod, I experience an interrupted series of returns to deep peace, as if a switch had been thrown ‘on’, then switched ‘off’ moments later. It’s the reason I read blogs like yours – they help flip the peace switch on 🙂

  4. Michael May 16, 2015 at 8:20 pm #

    I enjoyed your description of the bodily reactions to change. The mind can tell a cute story about just about anything, but the body rings right out with the most deeply held feelings. It is the visceral response of cells that have been told the stories, from one generation to the next inside of you, writing it all down in the DNA, the holy text passed on from each to each every night while you sleep, of the precious one that was born, and left. Now off she goes again. This is change. The whole body rings it’s response. The mind is focused elsewhere. But the knees buckle. I feel this way sometimes about seemingly simple things. The body’s wisdom can be startling.

    How do we transition from being the ones feared for, to the ones fearing for? This imbibing flesh life is a curious one. So much better than pretending!


    • marga t. May 18, 2015 at 10:34 pm #

      So DNA has been texting long before cell phones? interesting! Our bodies’ wisdom goes on for miles, while we tag along in the back seat, thinking we are driving 🙂 as I march around in this “rental car,” as SeeingM likes to call it, I am overcome at times with the gift of the connections to those of you who are not pretending who talk to me here – a rarity in my day to day to get to be with such souls, except in the grocery line or the post office at the oddest of times. I remember in this body that not pretending just used to be so. Thank goodness for such echoing memories in the body-life currents of knowing. Grateful for you, MM!

      • Michael May 19, 2015 at 1:36 am #

        Yes, the cells invented texting! I heard a talk once by the biologist Elisabet Sahtouris, and she noted that bacteria had done everything we are doing or have done in this evolutionary “crisis” we’re in, in which what once worked will work no longer. Bacteria began trading DNA snippets freely, producing a system for information exchange much like the internet eons of time ago, they produced a toxin (oxygen) that threatened to destroy life on planet earth until they figured out how to make the waste product a fuel for higher forms of life, and even consolidated nuclear technology by forming nuclear piles. There were some other examples too, but I can’t remember them now. It was amazing to think about. The intelligence of life, so full in every last fiber…

        Grateful to you as well–

  5. Amanda May 18, 2015 at 2:19 pm #

    Marga, so beautifully expressed. I remember the temptation to leave my body when my birth transition tremors were so intense. My best trick for coming back and not imagining myself away is ‘drop your shoulders, take a deep breath, and find an inner smile’. For whatever reason that works to snap me out of a mental story spiral. For what is worth, in my travels to Thailand I’ve never had any run ins with danger. Quite the opposite. Gentle, hardworking, helpful people. My friends have lived in Bangkok for about 15 years doing difficult work in the ‘red light’ district and they always say, even the riots that broke out a few years ago are waay overplayed. Things are mostly peaceful and smooth there. Employ the same street smarts you would in any city and she will be good! I understand the shakes though…sending you mama bear love 🙂

    • marga t. May 18, 2015 at 10:42 pm #

      Your words are powerfully soothing. I’ve been giving in to the ride a bit more, not anticipating! Your “shoulders, breath, smile” is like a golden ticket in Wonka – the key into the mysterious, creative candy factory. I also appreciate the first-hand knowledge about Thailand. Eden’s aunt (who spent 3 months in Chiang Mai last summer) has been arranging for E and her cousin to go to help with an orphanage that works on identity issues. The aunt conveys good knowledge but also passes on some fear that I was taking in a bit.
      I hope the arrival of Spring in Chicago has wrapped you, fellow mama bear, in warm, flower and honey- scented breezes. xo! m

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