As children we are born utterly helpless and entirely dependant upon the capacity of our care-givers to create the cohesive and attuned vessel of love into which our ensouled inspiritus might feel safe enough to land, to ground, to begin the journey of incarnating into the visceral embodiment of life on this good earth. Considering the intergenerational trauma that is now manifest in almost all the bloodlines of humanity, when we consider the hidden stories and legacies of trauma that are passed down the family lines, down the inherited cultural lines of abuse and domination, without even beginning to equate the lessons we come with from our spirit lines, it is of no surprise that the receiving vessel is not always what we need it to be, in order for us to arrive intact, awake and alive, to begin the enactment of the true purpose of our soul’s destiny on the earth plain. It is of no surprise that for some of us the great work of this life is that of forging the heartfull vessel of love, through which we are finally able to birth ourselves into full soulful presence in our living. Meticulously crafting the container of love that will facilitate our own becoming. This birthing for me feels to always be through the very eye of the wound, through the channel of perceived brokenness, the alchemical work of coming to know the unmetness as not of our own true making, but a troubled circumstance requiring of our dismantlement. It was never our own magnificence that was at question, never our own worthiness of love, but rather the absence of a consciousness big enough to birth us through. We are together now, forging that birthing hut, soft floored and warm eyed, plant allies at the ready, the receptive hands of our midwives outstretched to receive our gentle arrival. We are forging this space with the sinews of our care and compassion and co-creative striving. As we make of ourselves the alchemical vessels, turning shit into gold in the furnace of our own courage to bear the wound, the heart break, our fierce holding to a deeper knowing of who it is that we are, and what we were truly born to, an arrival begins to occur. The true birth of our vast consciousness, through the body, through mother/father/sister/brother/lover, wound and gift, we birth each other through the heart of our glorious love, and through the excruciating pain of its absence, to know our own true faces, received at last in the oxcytocic glow of our own arrival, to know ourselves utterly worthy of the life that has been gifted to us, that we are truly blessed to inhabit, and uniquely equipped to bestow.
© Lucy Pierce 2018
