Noticed today that Aaron's mark of love and troth rounds my finger even when the gold hasn't been there for a week. I kinda dig that.
I haven't been wearing my wedding ring because between the dry winter air and my amazingly frequent trips to the bathroom my hands reach for lotion almost of their own volition. Maybe that's another way love is making its mark on me.
Pregnant people pee a lot. For me it's up to 3-4 times an hour or absolutely any time I stand up, whichever comes first. Like the marriage signified by that band about my finger, the thing that does not go away even when the gold is gone, this process of creating new life challenges my notions of control and self...hood? Sufficiency? Self at all?
Marriage asks me to bend and try, go and stay--to do wild things and tame things outside my own perspective, ingenuity, initiation, and will. In responding I find that I am caught up in something bigger than myself where any notion of "control" is truly absurd. It just doesn't fit.
Pregnancy is like that, except it doesn't even ask first--though it doesn't compel, either.
It just happens.
Where the realities of marriage can sometimes stay behind the veil of nicety (to our detriment, but still), the experience of gestation in my person brings what is real right to the fore. Perhaps this is why birthing can be so suited within the bonds of marriage; I don't think I would have been able to meet this experience without the deep plunge into Love and the ordinary with Aaron.
Because of our partnership and what it's taught me I am drawn to wonder and hope even in the midst of stop 15 in the bathroom, hour 3 of those deep and dull pelvic cramps, or week 32 of learning that my body is not my own.
Love means I am not my own.
Love decreates the ego, dismantles the individual, and marks the hallowed vessel free to become--
to change and stretch, bend and try...
to endure the pain these things bring even as they release new and holy life into being.
My body is not being taken from me. I am not pressed against my will by violence or oppression.
Such is not in the mind of Love.
I only search in these words for a way to express the experience of willingly giving myself over to that which is Beyond and Beckoning.
To give by choice and then, dumbfounded, find myself already held, standing in the same place but somehow now able to see what I could not before, what the isolated individual never could:
What it is to be known by God.