Sproutling
by Jessica Stahle
originally published on Quirky Mama Blog 10/17/2010
Guest House by Rumi
by Jessica Stahle
originally published on Quirky Mama Blog 10/17/2010
Guest House by Rumi
"This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
mett them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond."
As I was doing some good soul searching in the kitchen this evening, I stumbled across this poem by Rumi that I had long forgotten about drifting amid a wild storm of old birthy papers. I've been stumbling and fumbling through my apprenticeship lately. Lots of my mind's time is spent trying to sort out just where my path is taking me and anguishing over the things I can not change and trying to figure out which I can. Then this simple poem reminded me of my lost Buddha's smile. You know the one. It is simple, loving, and accepting of whatever comes along the way. It is soft and sans judgement or suffering. And when life is tough, it is a damn hard thing to paint on my face.
So I decided it was time to put it on for a moment, and look at where I am at compassionately. The teenager years of an apprenticeship blow, just like being this age in high school. I kept looking at this stage through that lens. In the spirit of changing my perspective, I thought that trying on a different metaphor might help to bring a renewed spirit. Here is what popped up:
To say a young student midwife is not a midwife is like saying a baby is not a human. The wild women who walk this path have midwifery in their bones. Each one starts as a seed that has been planted in their hearts. For some, this comes from a traumatic birth that tugs at their hearts, screaming, "There is something more to birth! Find the beauty and share it!" Others are passed the seed by older wild, wise women who since their youth have wrapped them in a womb of juicy birth tales. This seed then sprouts over time as life and its many influences fertilize its growth. I am a sprouting midwife. My roots are beginning to stretch out and test my environment. While I look like a smaller version of the ripe and ready mature midwife I will one day be, for now I am fragile. I am open to the full spectrum of possibilities. My eagerness to branch out runs me into walls, beautiful and unexpected pockets of bliss, and sometimes burns me. It is all part of shaping who I am and who I will be. For now I am awkward and spindly. I actively draw from the resources around me to gather the building blocks I need to one day blossom and bloom as the fully-realized sage femme. I am that evolved self's heart and core, the blood and light that will fuel her darkest nights.
"I'm sensitive and I'd like to stay that way." Thank you Jewel. I concur.
