05/08/2016
I was invited three years ago to compare a mother with a flower.
"Imagine you are a flower, unfurling your petals." ...Ugh.
I read this in a number of childbirthing books as a metaphor for labor when I was pregnant with my daughter. My first thought was indignant: "Why should I cope with childbirthing pain like a delicate, nice-smelling, pretty-to-look-at flower? Why should I pretend that labor will be as sweet and soft as petals?" I was honestly offended.
But then I realized something. Perhaps it is not the metaphor that is misplaced, but rather my assumptions about what it takes to be a flower.
From the outside it's easy to think that it's no big deal - it's just what flowers do and how they were made to be. But imagine what it might be like from the inside. Imagine you think of yourself not as a flower, but as a vibrant, green bud. You've been growing into this strong shape for as long as you can remember. Then, one day, you feel a pressure growing from within and as the pressure grows a swelling wad of petals begins to burst out of you, literally splitting you at the seams. You peel back, making way for the flower, the petal, the seed, the new life.It might look sweet and soft from the outside - where we have a different sense of time and a different sense of self. But from the inside it may feel more like dying, like the world as you know it is coming to an end. From the inside it could feel like you're the only one suffering, and you wonder angrily, "Why is this happening to me?!" Nevertheless, you carry out the process, coming through on the other side as a new form, a new shape.
I'm beginning to realize I have been underestimating and overlooking the strength, endurance and resilience it takes for a flower to split open and unfold. It makes me wonder... Where else am I overlooking these remarkable qualities? In nature? In a friend? In strangers? In myself?
I'm thinking of a fire that tears apart an old forest - how rich that soil is for new growth. I think of my little girl's tender gums, giving way painfully to her new, much-needed tooth. I think of the tree branch always pushing through its tips as it grows bigger and stronger. I think of the entire human race, billions of human beings each birthed from the splitting open of their parents lives, and their parents' parents before them.
Then I think of the separations, break-downs, disappointments and discomforts that seem to litter our lives. And I wonder: What have I been missing in these torn open, unwanted, sore spots? Could they, from another perspective, be the first rupture of our blooming selves. Could they be as normal, as needed and even as lovely as the bud cracking open for each new flower to emerge?
I think it may be true to say: Nothing grows, where nothing tears apart. If I am a fan of growth, and emerging life and beauty, perhaps it makes sense to be a fan of the sometimes painful destruction that comes before it.
We sometimes hear, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle." But I wonder now if it's also appropriate to say, "Be impressed. Be astonished. Revel in awe of yourself and others, because everyone you meet fights a great battle!"
The ability to move through creative pain is indeed a fierce power. From inside it can feel like splitting open, like dying, like our world is coming to an end. And yet, as we step back with understanding we see that it can also unleash the natural growth of life - it can open up wild, astonishing possibility for our best intentions.
Rather than wishing away our heartaches, perhaps we can face into them heartily and gratefully. Perhaps we can watch ourselves and those around us in appreciation and awe as we split open over and over through the unfolding beauty of our lives. Perphaps next time we spot a disaster, we may also catch a glimpse of the something more, about to be.
- from "Splitting Seams," Unleashing the Lion, 2013
Photo credit: Sheralee
