On the Other Side

In the workshop we offered on September 10, Embracing the Other,  I was explaining what I mean by "othering" - essentially, the tendency to see that which is outside yourself as absolutely distinctly different and separate from you.  This particular habit we have is completely understandable, and on its own is not a bad thing. It just is.

The problem is, I believe, this perspective on its own can lead to some serious violence. I'd be willing to bet this is at the core of all violence. If and in those moments when we are able to consider the other side of the truth that all (for real, ALL) those others out there are also extensions of ourself in different forms, then how could we harm them? Well, I guess the other side of that truth is, in the individual sense of self, we all in different ways harm ourselves.  Look at this great situation we've created for ourself. (I have been listening to Alan Watts, The Book, can you tell?)

So, I recently posted about how 9/11 actually had a lot to do with why I became a massage therapist. Beyond that, the memories of being in New York only months after this event with a bunch of massage and aromatherapists who were dispersing all they could from their hands and their hearts still strike me with their sacredness.  I don't think I realized it then, but we were warriors of the spirit. We were light bearers in the City that Never Sleeps darkest nightmare.  As a 17-year-old, this made a permanent impression on my spirit.  Not only have I pursued bodywork as a profession, but I am keenly aware of the relationship between trauma and our bodies and committed to helping others release and move forward.

I was flooded by memories of this experience after I watched a slideshow we made after our trips to NYC.  Check it out if you like:

UAEvideo

More PowerPoint presentations from sylla

I know I am not the only one who's life was permanently affected in a positive way from this event.  There are thousands of these stories.  This is the other side of the pain of the event. It is how the game works.

So, in the workshop, I was also explaining how othering occurs on both small and large scales. I believe 9/11 to be the impetus for the past 10 years of national othering. I also believe that by becoming more aware of our tendency to close ourselves to others is the first step towards healing the space between us.  It starts right here.

Embracing this Moment

This weekend we held the first offering of the workshop, Embracing the Other, which incorporated partner yoga and writing in the exploration of the boundaries of self and other. I can't speak for anyone's experience but my own, but it appeared that the workshop was a positive experience for the attendees. What I love about creating and presenting these workshops is that it tricks me into becoming more aware of my own othering, even if it becomes a bit uncomfortable. Fear of miscommunication, fear of fruitless efforts, fear of my own darkness emerge and I meet them, get to know their face and mannerisms and maybe even gain some insight as to why they are the way they are. 

I have started to see just a little bit more how even the grandest fears are a product of the one side-sided view of things as "this and that" (dualism).  Though distinction is natural and necessary...it's not the whole story.  

Perceiving the self in the other can be quite tricky, but not impossible. When we can embrace what's right in front of us, what's been placed in our bowl*, is when we invite for just one moment to let the lines dissolve.  

*I've been reading Sue Bender's Everyday Sacred.  Simple and Inspiring. 

Babies.

The past few months I have had some quite amazing lessons in birth, with the babies as my teachers. It hard to describe the preparation that goes into an event that by nature is completely out of everyone's control, including the woman whose body is going through the transformation.  The only way to learn to be helpful in the process is to be there a few times. So I am working on that. 

My first was Micah.  Though she was on the later side of 41 weeks, she came right on time, a few days after I experienced my first death.  She ended up being born just a few hours into Easter. She knew.  

I was actually thankful that she waited a few days after we found out my uncle had passed; I had just enough time to recuperate for the long and late Saturday.  Though the birth was planned to be at home, an ultrasound the day before indicated a dissolving placenta and staying at the hospital was necessary.  They tried a topical medication to start dilation of the cervix on Friday and continued with a manual, balloon type of method called a foley bulb in the afternoon on Saturday.  I had showed up Saturday morning, all ready for my first birth experience, and found this whole induction thing to be a very slow to start process, something I was happy about.  I figure it is better to let mom and baby ease into labor, rather than speed up the process.  But it was a lot of waiting.

There was the fear that once we were in the hospital, it wold turn into one of those experiences where a "cascade of interventions" creates a traumatic birth experience for mom and baby. But that's not what happened at all.  Once I got to the hospital I could see how comfortable the mom was.  She had a room overlooking the water (we were at TGH) and had already built rapport with her nurses; she was ready to move forward with the hospital experience.  

It was a tiring day of waiting.  I ended up leaving in the late afternoon for a little bit to rest up and see some family that had come into town to grieve our sudden loss of my uncle.  I remember holding my baby cousin Devin and getting a phone call from J, Micah's mom, saying, "If you could transport yourself here, that would be great!" They had just started her pitocin and the contractions got strong.  Not too long after she called to let me know she was getting the epidural and gave me the option to rest at home for a little while until she was closer.  

So I did. And just the time I was getting up to call her, she called me and said, "I'm 10 cm, they broke my water, want to be here when I have my baby?!" I got my things together and was out the door.  

I got in around 11:30pm.  She was laying on her left side, doing what they called "laboring down," allowing the contractions to move her baby farther down the birth canal. Only a dim light was on. Her mother was at her head, holding her hand and stroking her hair. I was behind her rubbing her back.  We were probably like this for an hour or so, just being with her while she experienced the contractions and her last bit of time in labor.  Around 12:30pm, the nurse came to tick her and said, "We can see the head."  That's when everyone came in. 

The setup seems like such a blur.  Several medical teams rushed in, NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) nurses set up the baby station, the mother's doctor as well as an assistant and supervisor, as well as several other nurses were in place in minutes. Stirupps pulled up. Lights positioned from the ceiling.  Suddenly mom was exposed and instructed on how to push during her next contraction. She was ready. 

It never occurred to me until I saw it happening that pushing is a process.  Even though I have heard about mom's who've "pushed for an hour" or any other length of time, I never really knew that meant that the baby's head could be both inside and outside of the mother's body for minutes or longer. 

I would hold onto her right leg while she pushed, then allow it to rest in the stirrup and tell her what a great job she was doing and that she was so close.  It took about ten pushes or so to get the head out completely. Each time it would emerge a little more, then retreat back in slightly once the contraction was over. With that final push of baby and fluid, Micah turned to her right as she came out and I saw her open her eyes for the first time. What a magical moment, making all the energy of being present and available infinitely worth it. 

A minute or two later we heard the sound of her little cry and mom just laid her head back and said, "Thank you."  That's all she was waiting for.  

I had been working for this mother for months, discussing all the possibilities of what we might do during labor, how it might go, etc. This was the perfect experience to show me that, it never goes like that, and yet, all the work we did together was necessary. 

I don't know anything else in life like this.  But then I also think, what happens when we approach each moment like this?  What happens when we joyfully do our work knowing we may have to change plans at any moment?  There is great wisdom in this approach.  Every moment is subject to change. Babies know how to live, indeed.