(Originally written at the end of July, 2021)
As I start to type this my heart is racing. I do not want to tell this story. I do not want to tell it for fear that it will be misunderstood, for fear of judgment, for fear of revealing to much. But more than any of this, I do not want to tell this story because I feel myself exposing something that feels so deeply precious to my personal heart, and to do this means to step forward with an undefended heart. And there is some part of me that is pulling me into a deeper knowing that my heart needs no protection.
Six weeks ago I had a miscarriage. No, we weren’t trying, nor was the pregnancy a mistake. There has been a soul hovering in our shared field for six months, a soul that has been orbiting me for at least two years now, and whose presence felt much closer and stronger since landing here at Chesapeake Temple back in February. During our six week dark community experiment, my nights were filled with dreams of pregnancy and infants, and my days filled with energetic birthing cycles. Letting the power of spirit pass through my body bestowing on me a tiny taste of the intensity of labor. Cervix contracting and bearing down into the earth, energy passing through this matter aided by my consenting soul - demanding with ferocity to be brought into form and anchored here in this particular place of Chesapeake Temple and into the land on which it stands. These experiences were powerful, frightening and opening; it was a journey into surrendering my body to be used up in service to this landing. And in the process of it, I went through a deeply personal journey of simultaneously surrendering my own deepest heart longing to be a mother. It made no rational sense, but there was an undeniable knowing that I would have to give this up in service to a deeper calling of purpose - if I were to give myself fully to this temple, to the One Life, to this soul calling, I would have to be willing to give up all personal desire. Whatever was asked of me, I would give. This doesn’t mean that these desires magically disappear, on the contrary, some of them start screaming even louder. But it does mean that something else takes precedence, something beyond my understanding, a gnosis of something that deep within my core I have said yes to.
We do not live in a world in which we are shown how to do this. Nor is soul, or the calling of our souls recognized. We are taught to reach for achievements, or perhaps more idealistically, follow our dreams, to go after what we want, to hustle to make money, gather success, have the marriage, have the kids, have the house. We are rarely shown how or what it is to willingly say yes to give up our desires to serve a greater purpose bigger than our personal selves. We have mistaken sacrifice for martyrdom. The difference between self betrayal and the intentional turning toward that which you would give up your life for, a realization of why you are here alive in this body right now. Would you consent to the sacrifice of your physical form? To give yourself over, every cell of your being, every ounce of your flesh to be used, ravished, surrendered. Would you consent to the sacrifice of your personal heart? Your longings of romance and security? The attachment to the love that you hold there, the love for your children, for your parents, for your lovers, for your brothers, your sisters, yourself. Would you let your identity die, so that the truest you might be here fully? If it meant giving up the career, the house, the relationship, or in my case, having a child?
In the fall of last year I was deep in a trance state and I was asked what I would be willing to sacrifice for a return to eternal love, this remembering of who I am, where we all come from, why I am here, a remembering of soul purpose woven into planetary purpose. It was a question that was asked from within me, a question that I did not want to answer, but had no choice to respond. First I was shown my dog, Bodhi. I felt my consent to losing this beloved companion of mine, an immediate yes followed by horror and heartbreak. And rapidly more images began to appear. My parents, family, friends, places on the earth I am deeply in love with, my nieces, a great romantic love, and finally I was shown the being who was meant to be my child in this life. I felt myself holding a tiny baby and handing this little body off into the abyss. To my heart, she already exists, that relationship is alive, evolving, and happening multimensionally. But in that moment I was willing to hand over my child to the unknown, to what felt like death, but even more painfully, to be separated from me. And in that moment, seemingly simultaneously as experiencing the excruciating pain and tearing open of my heart to grief, I finally felt the impossibility of this separation. I was torn open to the expanse of our eternity. Fractals of a singular origin, clawing and stumbling our way through life, all trying to find our way back to love, whether we know this or not. A peace fell over me then, followed by an extreme contraction. I started to crumble as I began to grasp with my ordinary mind all the things I could be asked to give up to stand for love and life in this way. I was grieving for things I hadn’t yet experienced, but knew I might offer up in . Sobbing as I felt a thousand deaths in my future being pulled into the present. Nothing to hold onto, free falling into the abyss towards freedom itself. This is often what it is to time travel for me, and to unravel, to know so deeply in my bones what is coming, and feeling utterly surrendered and helpless while immersed in the deep satisfaction of longing and feeling it inch ever so slightly closer, like a distant call.
This is the beauty of conception. To give birth and bring life into this world is to ensure death. And so much of what is conceived will never come into form, never to even be seeded. And others will make it to the womb, only to be miscarried or born prematurely, and that is perfect, while others through destiny and the force of life will grow in strength and love and wisdom and outlast us all. That soul is still hovering, and I look forward to the day we meet in the flesh again, whether it’s through my body or another’s.