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 two has felt like that - as the Vernal Equinox has found its way into life and as we in the New England area witness the snow melting away, the grass beginning to green, and the temperatures to rise ever so slightly. We are times, teased by the outer laces of winter, the last of the tender snowflakes, sometimes amassing underfoot and reminding us that still we can slow, still there is time . . . but then too, we are teased by the warming rays of the sun, beckoning us to stand outside just a few minutes longer, to drink up the warmth and the energy that allows our lives to continue to grow, that gives of itself freely to all.
The pregnant pause is the space between placing those miraculous seeds with the potential for abundance and life into the soil, and the moment that we first see the tiny shoots come through to greet us with vibrancy and delicacy. The pregnant pause is the space between our exhale and our inhale when we are closest to death. The pregnant pause is the silence between two friends or lovers after one has shared a truth from the heart and all that needs to be said is found in the silence. The pregnant pause is the first rays of spring. 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. That, too, is the pregnant pause.
The pregnant pause is something that is easy to lose a sense of connection with. And also equally easy to rediscover. If we are willing and wanting. And it sometimes presses itself upon us, even if we are not wanting.
It is the latter that I have found myself in these last couple of weeks . . . bearing witness to the things that have fallen away through the winter . . . offering patience to my body that is not yet ready for the hums of movement and fiery shifts . . . allowing myself to breathe through the cries of the young aspects of myself that fight against acceptance and allowing things to be as they are . . . acknowledging that social media and emails and text messages feel as though they are striking against the buoyancy of that pause, even as my fingers and mind reach to respond, react, and engage.
It is also the pregnant pause that allows you to feel what your soul truly is calling for . . . the changes that your mind can rationalize as irrational . . . the changes that frighten or challenge you or that seem unbelievably out of reach . . . the things that were instilled in you as being ‘too much’ or ‘crazy’ or ‘not logical or realistic.’
Here too, is where I now find myself . . . and where others I know, find themselves too.
It is tempting to ignore . . . to push forward and away . . . to not allow the space or time to feel and to be held. Yet, we are of nature, are we not? And so if the plants and trees, and new life among the animals allow this . . . why do we push it away? What if we simply allow? How might our lives look then?
An Invitation to Explore the Pregnant Pause
Inhale slowly to the count of seven (with no need to shift the depth of the inhale).
Pause to the count of seven.
Exhale slowly to the count of seven (with no need to ‘push’ the breath out).
And then sit in the emptiness without inhaling to the count of seven.
Repeat this four times.
Each time, notice the sensation, emotions, and thoughts that you experience when sitting in the pause and the emptiness.
If you wish, continue this practice daily for seven days.
If your lungs are not able to hold to the count of seven, allow yourself to breathe in, pause, exhale, and sit in the emptiness for as long as it feels comfortable, at equal measure in each part.