I know I haven’t posted anything for a while, so surprise, surprise!!
Last week I had the opportunity to get up and present a story at the Word of Mouth evening in Geelong. Pushing my boundaries, learning about storytelling, all in a supportive environment. Requirements:- It had to be a personal story, and you couldn’t read it. The theme was “WAITING”.
They all told lovely everyday stories. But oh no, not me! Here’s the personal story that I shared:
“My story is about waiting to be born. . . well waiting to be conceived, actually. And no, this is not an R-rated story.
Do you remember when you were A SPERM?
I imagine that I can. . .
‘Super X, Super Y,
Swims, and gyrates every fibre of his body.
And when he gets there,
There’s no hanging back.
No wait and see: “Is it safe?
Will she think I’m good enough?
Will I ask her for a dance?
Or skirt around and, looking down,
kick these stones, my eyes averted.”
As he goes into X (the unknown ocean),
he doesn’t wonder, “Will I be able to handle this?
I don’t know what I’m getting into here.
I’ll get more information first— a written guarantee.
Well, hell, I must be careful here!
I could jump in and then become endless permutations,
more and more divisions,
manufactured out of nowhere,
without my control – overwhelminglyout of control.
I could become new life—
He just goes into X,
the unknown ocean.
He just is.
He just does.’
Now I know there wasn’t a lot of WAITING involved in being a sperm. After all, I didn’t get to the end of the race, notice there’s another little guy swimming next to me, step aside and say, “After you”… But there’s another aspect that does involve waiting.
Do you remember when you were AN EGG CELL? An OVA?
I imagine that I can. . .
‘I am the sac.
I am the unknown ocean.
I be. . .
I am. . .
Serene and fruitful, beyond measure and imagining.
Warm and still,
Moist and full,
Artless and fertile.
There’s no go get ‘em in this aspect.
I . . . wait.
Not peer into the darkness,
not, “Hurry up and fill me up some more, you guys.”
Not squint and grunt and make it all come in.
I want it.
I drift and flow,
unheeding of the when or where or how.
I am not bursting with coiled energy
I am still;
pulsing my steady confidence.
I am complete and whole.
I know already …
And manifest complete, unending will I be when I’ve received;
Then my gestation was a time of complete comfort, warmth, and nurturing. There was an entire system of interrelating, multi-functioning parts all organized in perfect harmony for the sole purpose of serving my growth and fulfilment.
It was still and peaceful in here. It was silent except for a reassuring pulse, and the low hum of voices. It was warm, oh, so warm.
I didn’t have to wonder if my needs would be met. Why, I didn’t even have to ask!
Mum and I were one. I never had to explain what I wanted, stand up for my rights, adapt to a less-than-perfect environment, or compromise in any way at all.
It was the perfect state—me, me, me!
This state continued for eight whole months – (yes, I was a month premature.)
Maybe one of us got sick of waiting. But who was it? Did I jump or was I pushed?
I wouldn’t have had a sense of WAITING, though. I was just gestating away, minding my own business. As far as I knew, there was nothing more than this.
Mum would have known she was waiting. After all, they say a woman is “expecting.” She KNOWS she’s waiting for something. There’s an end point. She’s definitely expecting something; hopefully a baby.
But I wasn’t EXPECTING anything! I sure wasn’t expecting THAT!”—————————————————————————————————-
So last week, like my little sperm guy, without having been to one of these nights at all, I just jumped straight in.
And sometimes, I need to just be. Drifting, flowing, waiting, not knowing what (if anything) is to come.