It was a pretty normal day here in Truchas. A friend was visiting and the phone rang. Barbara and Alvaro wanted to know if I could join them for a potluck dinner at a friend’s place in Chimayo. I’d never met this friend of theirs, but they said there was always a great mix of interesting people at his potlucks. So, I was happy to accept the invitation. Just seeing Barbara and Alvaro would have been enough.
We arrived at dusk and joined Lawrence alongside his giant burn bowl, fire blazing. The conversation was scintillating as others started to arrive. The guests were mostly young people, all of them fascinating—a couple who did animation projects for Dreamworks, a naturopath, and a poet named Vivian Gordon. Vivian and Alvaro recited some of their poetry as the evening progressed and I invited Vivian to write a guest post for the blog on any subject of her choosing. I’m delighted that she agreed. Here is what her inspiration birthed for us.
In the Path of the Ripple
For all its uncertainty and fragility, birth is dispassionate and compelling. How else does life answer its longing for itself?
The Angels appear, and, like devoted doulas, deliver both mother and child into new lives. Though the cord is cut, their souls are irrevocably entwined; they will share this lifetime with its accompanying dramas and joys. They will reflect the tears in each other’s eyes, the glimmer in each smile, and, they will learn that love is big enough to contain hate.
Our startled gasps stain the sky like neon kites when we leave the nursery. We are barely solid enough to taste the air; eyes still finding their focus; skin thin as damp rice paper. Fragile wings require time to acquire the strength to trust the thermals, the assurance needed for gliding, and the will to develop a desire to soar.
An overstuffed landscape surges with stimuli: cacophony closing in from all sides. We are introduced to the cornerstones Who, What, When, Where, Why and How for the first time. They are the sentinels guarding the garden of consensus. In the nursery there were no corners or harsh edges or sharp angles. Nothing fit into boxes.
Alas, mesmerized by the hubbub surrounding us, captivated by the confetti sprinkles falling before our eyes like curtains of shiny-colored beads, we forget we are born happy.
Yet our ears are never completely silent, our voices never irrevocably absent. With unerring instinct we navigate the surges and surf the tides. And the heart retains its vision of a universe replete with ripples.
Vivian Gordon Xhabbo grew up in Palo Alto, California, and is a graduate of Stanford University. She has ventured the realms of juvenile probation officer, fashion and artist model, and house painter. She is passionate about and practices intentional sustainable décor. Her poetry and short stories have appeared in local, national, and www venues. Xhabbo lives a surreal life in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Love to you all,