The Pregnant Pause . . .

I often write with the use of these little friends ' . . . ' - the ellipses. To me, they represent the pregnant pause - the lilting and shifting nature of thoughts as they flow like the tides of the river. And sometimes I see those very same ' . . . ' in my life. The last week or so has felt like that - as I've watched myself slowly move inward - strip down my communications so that only the essentials are in place - come home from work and immerse myself in my grad school studies and studio work - spend my weekends dancing among projects deep in the grace of the creative fire. I haven't wanted to talk about 'what' is happening. I've felt, instead, the silence, the deepening of that pregnant pause, where the smallest of movements echoes through the canyons of my body.

That is what the first rays of spring feel like to me as well. The slow tap, tap, tap of the ice and snow as it melts. That first chirp of the birds, so plaintive and strong. The subtle shift in the smell of the air. And the sun that somehow seems to shine just the slightest bit brighter. All of that - that moment before the buds burst forth and the grass shows itself . . . before birds begin to fly in v formations about our head . . . before the days are so warm that they require shorter sleeves and fewer layers. That, too, is the pregnant pause.

It is very much like that magical moment when you're making soup and you know that you have pulled all of the ingredients together from your recipe and from your wisdom . . . and there is nothing left to do except to let it simmer for hours and fill your house and your senses with that wonderful nourishing smell. And so it becomes that wait . . . that pregnant pause . . . before you can lift the spoon to your mouth to taste the delicious concoction of ingredients that have come together to fill your soul.

In the 108 day practice, there is, a pregnant pause. I remember it from each cycle, though the timing is always slightly different. And here on day 77, I feel that pause . . . pulsating . . . sitting on the cusp of time . . . drifting through the ethers and filling me with a deep silence. It is the luxury of knowing that something brilliant is about to shift . . . big or small . . . suddenly or slowly . . . transformation will occur. Its' appearance a mystery . . . only the echoes of times past teasing me into awareness. It is like that long-awaited first kiss . . . that happened before you ever fully realized just how long you have waited and how deeply you have wanted. And that moment where you are certain that it will never end.

That is the pregnant pause.