The Return

By Mohan Clarke

The great story of the heart entering form. You have been watching us and waiting. It cannot be an easy return. We know you are near us. Dreams and omens herald your arrival.
Walking the earth like a man who has lost his mind, his bearings, his sorrow. I am to be a father. The mystery and matrix of creation enfolding this love. It is you I shall embrace, my teacher, my love, my heart… my child.
On the Cape in a scorched twilight of leaking turquoise and grapefire, the world is euphoria of light, sound, water and earth. News of the spiritchild comes at a time of great change. I hear Al-Hallaj’s song in the wind,

Between me and you
there is only me
Take away the me
So only You remain.

I cannot speak with any authority of fathering. I am new to this and easily overwhelmed. I am only ever more certain of not knowing in the face of these mysteries. And that I have been chosen as a father is perhaps not so miraculous, yet within the ordinary grace and heroism of daily life here is a gift that fills me with joy, wonder and intimations of infinity. The blood and bone of Being rapidly being formed now, spun in vortices of love and light within this beautiful woman. Awash in awe and gratitude, the sun falls into the shifting light. It is all Her. This Light, this shimmering gold thread upon the silky water pulling me into the heart. Don’t expect me back anytime soon.

I can never forget Ben Okri’s searing words, “There were always those amongst us who had just returned from the world of the living. They had returned inconsolable for all the love they had left behind, all the suffering they hadn’t redeemed… And for all they had barely begun to learn before they were drawn back to the land of origins. There was not one amongst us who looked forward to being born. We disliked the rigors of existence, the unfulfilled longings, the enshrined injustices of the world, the labyrinths of love, the ignorance of parents, the fact of dying, and the amazing indifference of the living in the midst of the simple beauties of the universe. We feared the heartlessness of human beings, few of whom ever learn to see.”

This mysterious world.
Winter light
Empty cloud
Across the jade ocean.

There are many perils to prepare for ensuring safe passage to this realm. Before first breath is drawn. Birthing units beyond major hospitals are being pressured to close. Closure of birthing units is not only a women’s issue, it is a family issue, a father’s issue, a men’s issue. Here and now economic rationalism is driving health policy under the rhetoric of networking specialist services. Downgrading rural hospitals to meet the heartless agenda of a social policy that sanctifies cost savings as the priority, rather than communities and human lives. Where is the evidence for this rationalisation of these services? Why at this intersection of the timeless with time, do we abdicate control, and the evidence-based success of midwifery?

On most recent figures maternal mortality in Australia is increasing from 10.1 per 100 000 to 13 from the years 1991-1996 (NHMRC and AIHW). There is no political will to prevent the obstetric cascade known as the caesarean industry, with the obvious correlation between increasing interventions and poor health outcomes for mothers. In Queensland in 1994-6 mum mortality was 18.2, nearly double the national average. In the U.S., maternal mortality, according to the World Health Organization, is now higher than at least twenty other industrialised nations. In NSW Health this year 13 of 25 obstetric registrar positions were filled for the seven-year training. With the average age of Australian obstetricians in their 50s, and most approaching retirement, the current lack of doctors willing to birth due to fierce indemnity insurance costs intensifies this crisis. When the spiritchild up to the age of 21 can litigate against an obstetrician for poor university performance due to a forceps delivery we are in trouble as a community.

I look forward to those early moments of embodied being as she is drawn from her mother. I will look into her eyes and know eternity. It wasn’t long ago that all of this was a dream. That such a meeting was possible. That such a woman existed, family life, a home. All this richness that has flooded me these past months only blessing, only blessing. All dream and fragments of soul swirling in the winds of destiny have brought me to this moment. Mists rising in the shrouded forests, the taste of snow on her lips, the smell of woodsmoke, forest earth and nagchampa.

And somehow this little being is transforming me, before we have even met. I am humbled by her beauty and her majesty. This spiritchild will bring so much light and love into this darkened world and divinise reality from within it. I am melting with her, and all story dissolves in the strength of this love. The spiritchild invites completion as a male and an authentic father, protecting and nurturing this sacred inheritance. How can my heart not be broken open by this miracle? I am freefalling through this event horizon of the soul.

Across the world are celebrations welcoming the return of the spiritchild. Tribal people say it takes a whole village to raise a child. No two people are up to this task. In our culture of separation the nuclear family attempts the impossible, and at what cost. In traditional cultures men are taught by fathers and initiated in the mysteries of presence and supporting the mother. Here as a man I am only entitled to one week unpaid paternity leave from my employer, yet will I be back so soon?

So join with me my brothers at this moment in my life and let us dance and sing together. Celebrate with me! I am to be a Father.

Published, byronchild, issue 2, June 02