I believe that men and women give birth. That child, adult, old an young, gay and straight, black and white, are all capable of the miraculous process of birth. To give birth is not only a process of biology but also a behavior of spirit. I believe the soul births the macrocosm in which peace and agony exist. Birth transcends all barriers be they language, race, or creed. I believe the process of birth is a painful one, but one which we must all endure.
Souls are not a dime a dozen –not a figment of imagination, not a concept of mysticism, or a method of transportation to heaven. Souls are the reality of all our thoughts, beliefs, loves, and pains. Souls talk. Souls react to one another. When passing someone on the sidewalk and I get that tingle in the pit of my stomach, and hear that voice speaking in my head commanding, “Smile at them. Say good morning.” That’s the conversation between souls. That’s my soul birthing a moment of felicity for the world.
Recently I was driving home from work. Tired and depressed about my job, my life, my finances I noticed a man sitting under a bridge. He was dirty, unshaven, wore ragged pants, and on his head was a trucker’s cap so faded I couldn’t tell if it was tan or badly faded black. He sat Indian style. “Great!” I said under my breath as the traffic light turned red, “This guy is going to come up to the car and beg for money.” “Go get a Job!” was going to be my response from the car window, which I certainly wasn’t going to roll down. The light seemed to stay on red endlessly, but “Bridge Man”, as I’ve come to call him, sat under the overpass silent and looking me dead in the eyes. My soul began the contractions of birth. I didn’t know what I was about to bring forth into the world, but it confounded me as to why I would be reacting in this manner towards this stranger. Suddenly, I delivered a corpus of compassion, oozing and slimy with feelings.
At last the light turned green and I floored the gas pedal, speeding away from him leaving my newly born ball of compassion behind like an abandoned child on a stranger’s doorstep. I felt awful, repugnant, and dirty. I didn’t listen to my soul. I didn’t receive Bridge Man’s gift of spiritual richness, despite physical poverty. I was to self-involved to realize that in that moment we are all connected through our souls.
Bridge Man reminds me that our souls give spiritual gifts to the world through us, and that we as humans are charged with the mission of sharing these gifts. I believe that the soul gives birth, and just as a newly birthed baby opens its eyes to a brand new world. Our spiritual births allow us to open our eyes to a new world. A world of peace.
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