The journey of a life, particularly the genesis of that life, is often perceived as a singular event, a definitive starting point. However, for many, including the author of this reflection, the profound realization dawns that birth is not merely an opening line but a complex, interwoven sentence within a much larger narrative. This exploration delves into the personal odyssey of understanding one’s own arrival, framed by Buddhist philosophy, and highlights the enduring strength of maternal resilience and the intricate web of interconnectedness that defines existence.
Unraveling the Origin Story: A Doula’s Provocation
The catalyst for this deeper inquiry into personal origins began several months prior, during a silent dharma retreat in Mexico City. Amidst the introspection and communal practice, a chance encounter with Erica Pinilla, a birth doula, proved transformative. Traveling together to the airport on Mother’s Day, Pinilla’s incisive questions about the author’s own birth – inquiries into breastfeeding, prenatal or postnatal traumas, and complications – prompted a stark realization. These were questions the author had never considered, let alone posed to her mother.
"Most of us treat our birth as the opening line of our story, when really it’s the middle of a much longer sentence," Pinilla observed, a statement that resonated deeply and shifted the author’s perspective. Until that moment, the author’s knowledge of her birth was limited to the factual: the date, time (7:00 a.m.), location (New York City), and even the hospital, a place with familial significance as her father had also been born there. This awareness, largely a product of societal curiosity about astrological signs in Los Angeles, had never extended to the profound reality of the mother’s lived experience prior to her own existence. The self-centered nature of focusing solely on one’s own arrival, without acknowledging the sacrifices and journey of the birthing parent, became a poignant revelation.
The Buddhist Lens: Death, Birth, and Impermanence
This personal reflection is further contextualized within the author’s engagement with Buddhist philosophy, which, while heavily emphasizing the contemplation of death and impermanence, often places less direct focus on the act of birth itself. The author’s deep engagement with Buddhism stemmed in part from an early-life encounter with mortality, the loss of her brother at the age of thirteen. This profound experience led her to the Bardo Thodol, or the Tibetan Book of the Dead, which became a significant inspiration for her artistic practice, manifesting in plays that explore conscious dying.
However, the encounter with the doula highlighted a significant aspect of Buddhist thought that had been less explored: birth as a crossing, a mystery, a coming into being, as profound and significant as death itself. The concept of anicca, impermanence, and the dissolution of all things, while central, often overshadows the equally potent transformative power of arrival.
A Mother’s Account: Courage in the Face of Medical Uncertainty
Prompted by Pinilla’s insights, the author reached out to her mother with a list of questions. The mother’s response painted a picture of a birth that was anything but ordinary. Born a month premature, the author’s arrival coincided with the vacation of the designated obstetrician, Dr. Irving Ward Robinson.
The medical history of the family added layers of complexity. The author’s elder sister had been born prematurely at seven months, necessitating a C-section due to complications. Consequently, when the mother became pregnant with the author, the plan was for a vaginal delivery. However, the author’s own early arrival meant that her mother’s medical records did not reach Saint Luke’s Woman’s Hospital in time. The medical team, unaware of the specifics of the previous C-section, deemed a vaginal birth too dangerous, citing concerns about spinal instability and the potential for rupture, severe bleeding, and even death.
Despite these dire warnings, the mother refused to deviate from her plan. She was made to sign extensive paperwork acknowledging the risks, but her conviction remained unwavering. "I said, I know I can do this," she recounted. "I knew we would be OK. And we were."
Ehipassiko: The Buddhist Principle of Coming and Seeing
The mother’s simple yet powerful declaration, "I knew we would be OK," became a cornerstone of the author’s reflection. This was not a statement of hope, but of certainty. This certainty, the author posits, reflects a core tenet of Buddhism known as ehipassiko, which translates to "come and see." It is not blind faith, but a deep knowing that arises from direct experience and personal investigation, rather than mere acceptance of doctrine.
This principle, the author explains, requires individuals to test principles within the "laboratory of their own lives." It is a steadier form of conviction than optimism or denial, rooted in complete presence with reality, acknowledging what has been experienced and tested. The analogy of a mountain standing firm against the wind, without hoping, simply standing, illustrates this profound, unshakeable certainty. The mother’s assurance was not born of ego or defiance, but from an “unshakeable intimacy with life itself,” an acceptance of what is and what will be.
A Mother’s Sacrifice and the Rebuilding of Bonds
The narrative then takes a poignant turn, revealing the physical toll the birth ultimately took on the author’s mother. Approximately seven months after the author’s birth, her mother developed severe nerve compression in her spine, a complication that, in retrospect, lent some credence to the doctors’ earlier warnings. This condition led to a loss of mobility, necessitating hospitalization and weeks of traction to relieve pressure on her nerves. During this critical period, she was unable to see her infant daughter.
"I’ll never forget Mother’s Day," the mother recalled. "The nurses let your father sneak you in to see me. When I held you, you cried because you didn’t know who I was." This moment of separation and unfamiliarity underscores a profound truth about love and connection: it is not always an instantaneous recognition but can be a process of rebuilding.
Thich Nhat Hanh’s words, "Every moment is a chance for us to begin again," resonate here, highlighting the dynamic nature of relationships. Bonds can break and require renewed forging. Buddhism teaches that attachment, not love itself, is the root of suffering, emphasizing the fragile nature of all things and the constant need for renewal in relationships. Even the fundamental bond between mother and child is subject to change and requires continuous effort.
Ancestral Echoes: Loss, Lineage, and the "Original Face"
The author draws a parallel between her own experience and the profound loss faced by the Buddha, whose mother, Mahamaya, passed away seven days after his birth. Even the journey toward enlightenment, the narrative suggests, begins with separation and loss. The belief that Mahamaya heard her son’s teachings in heaven hints at the porous veil between life and death, a concept further illuminated by Thich Nhat Hanh’s own experience of his mother’s passing. He described a profound dream that led him to understand that his mother was not lost but alive within him.
This contemplation of loss leads to another significant revelation. The author’s mother disclosed that she had experienced a miscarriage before the author’s birth. When asked about the meaning of this loss, the mother’s response was deeply impactful: "If we had that child before you, we probably would have stopped there."
These words, "stopped there," cast a new light on the author’s existence. Her life, which she had assumed was a matter of course, was, in fact, contingent on a previous loss. This understanding of a prior, unknown grief making way for her own arrival was further explored with the doula, Erica Pinilla. Pinilla emphasized that birth is never a singular event for one body but a confluence of multiple generations present simultaneously. This perspective aligns with the Zen koan, "What was your original face before your parents were born?"
The Koan of Existence: Interconnectedness and Emptiness
The doula’s work, as described, involves recognizing that every birth carries a lineage of grief and that mothers labor not only with the child present but also with the spectral presence of children who came before, born or unborn. This profound interconnectedness challenges the notion of a fixed, independent self.
The author reflects on the Buddhist concept of the illusion of a fixed self and the mystery of continuity. If there is no permanent self, what is it that travels forward and is reborn? The analogy of a hawk wiping away a mountain with a scarf, representing immense spans of time and countless lives, illustrates the Buddhist understanding of existence. A flame passed from one candle to another is not identical, yet the essence of light and warmth continues. Karma, causes, and conditions unfold endlessly, shaping new forms.
The author then touches upon the Buddhist practice of monks choosing their rebirths with remarkable precision, highlighting the potential for conscious influence over future existences. This leads to questions about the nature of the space before life, a "peaceful waiting room" or a "great quiet emptiness" from which consciousness emerges.
The true power of koans, or "big juicy questions," as the author prefers, lies not in finding definitive answers but in their ability to rearrange one’s internal landscape. They invite deep contemplation, encouraging individuals to feel for the ground beneath their perceived self and discover that it is not a solid foundation but rather a dynamic flow of relationships and interconnectedness. The ultimate question, therefore, is not about proving rebirth but about understanding how to live in a deeply interconnected world where nothing truly disappears and actions have far-reaching echoes.
This leads to the Buddhist concept of sunyata, or emptiness. Emptiness, in this context, is not a void but the boundless potential for becoming. It is the foundational ground from which all things emerge and to which they return. The flower is empty because it is composed of sun, soil, and rain; the author is empty because she is made of her mother, her grief, her fearlessness, and the unborn child who preceded her. This understanding of emptiness is the origin of all created things, the boundlessness and interdependence that defines existence.
A Legacy of Fearlessness and the Promise of "We Will Be OK"
The author concludes by suggesting that the fearlessness her mother embodied in the delivery room may not have originated solely with her. Perhaps, the author posits, she arrived already carrying an ancient momentum toward life, a pre-existing echo of her mother’s eventual declaration: "We will be OK." And, in that profound moment of understanding, the author believes that echo was heard and believed. The narrative of the self, it is profoundly revealed, begins not with individual arrival, but with the interwoven tapestry of lives, losses, and unwavering resilience that precedes and enables it.
