The hardest part of the birth of the thing.
The part where the thing is lodged in such a way that it cannot go back the way it came, and it cannot yet move forward.
Lodged. Shifting. Dilating. Preparing for entry. Waiting on the precipice between born and unborn. Getting set to move head first down the canal.
The laboring feels long gone. The laboring that lasted hours, days, weeks, months, years is done. Completed. The heart has moved on. If there are any nostalgic whisperings, it is too late.
There suddenly seems to be no space for recovery, no moments for integration and processing and accommodation. There is burning. There is hurting like hell. There is feeling like movement is nonexistent, and there is also the feeling of the most powerful movement that could ever be experienced. Lodged, yet expanding. Rapidly.
It cannot be sucked back up, and it cannot be forced out, either. It is exactly where it is meant to be.
The body knows what to do. It is not time to push, in transition. There is nothing to do but keep breathing, holding out hope, grasping onto the faith that it will soon be transformed. For transition is often when the faith is lost, when throwing up the arms in exasperation occurs, when plans are angrily thrown out and medication is requested, stat.
The forest of transition is thick. And dark. And seems like the only thing ever known.
It is the hardest part of the birth. And it is also the shortest.
Yet on the other side of this transition-state is life. That thing that is being birthed. That thing that is being born into this world.
It is your life, your creation.
It is you.
And after long last, it is positioned for entry. It is time. It is pushed out easily, sliding freely into existence.
The pushing isn't much of pushing at all. The pushing is the easy part.
The world erupts, love radiates, stars explode, rainbows burst forth, and all becomes sunny and free.
Through the thick forest of labor and depletion and exhaustion, this seemed impossible at times. You only had an inkling of an idea
that life of this caliber was possible, that love of this magnitude existed, that joy of this kind was an option.
Transition is the hardest part of the birth. And it is also the shortest.
Have faith. For when transition sets in, it becomes clear:
Hold on a little longer. Breathe. Keep the faith. Recommit to feeling good, to that great expanse lying before you.
For birth is imminent.