Too many older people describe each day as being "closer to the grave." What if that idea was reframed to suggest that each day we are further from the womb?
That womb was likely the place of highest comfort. All needs met. No efforts made or even possible.
One day, the eviction notice comes. Lucky as my life has been consider what confronts an American boy at birth? A world of sharp objects - one used to cut the umbilical & the other used to circumcise.
More important, psychologists report that males have a fundamentally harder time with the third cut - maternal separation. Females can identify with their mothers. Biologically, that is tougher for males.
The male dose of testosterone fills us with a range of aggression that sometimes makes me think that stuff is poison. Fights, wars, torture, dominance, the quest to "win," all suggest male energy. Would the world be better with less of that?
Of course, there are the positives. But ask a woman to list them and she may hesitate. I wrote a little poem to describe my feelings. At least it has a happy ending.
Why Do I Struggle?
Every inch of me fights to return
to the womb from which
I was exiled.
Every thrust outward,
every push to climb, create, dominate,
succeed
is to win my way back
to the haven
of her who first held me within:
to breasts that nurture,
to skin that forgives my sins & says,
“Yes. You may reenter my sanctuary.”
Earth, with her stubborn rules, scorns
such bizarre & impossible longings,
leaving us seeking, searching, confused,
suffering with the mystery until, finally,
& forever
the Miracle appears.
-Erie Chapman
Photo: "Julie & Ryder" by Erie 2010
