I just want to go back to the womb cave and listen to endless drumming until I feel stars inside my skin.
…This sentence came through when I was texting a friend this week.
Her response — “THAT” — made it clear that I am not alone in this longing.
So many of us feel the urge to curl back into some vision of The Mother. Exhausted by all the doing, worrying, and waiting, we just want to get quiet and be held by an elemental heartbeat. We long to devote ourselves to beingness.
What would it be like, we wonder, if we simply feel like we were part of creation? What if we didn’t have to please, prove, make, and strive our way to worthiness?
What if, just for a little while, you could go back to the womb cave and listen to endless drumming until you felt stars inside your skin?
But… is it OK to want to turn inward and just be nourished right now?
It feels crazy to want to keep incubating and hibernating after all these months of social distancing.
It feels selfish to long for some sort of spiritual safety when so many are perpetually unsafe due to the color of their skin, the economic losses from the pandemic, or the host of other monsters that keep people from feeling healthy and secure.
When there are so many things to fix in the world and so many things to achieve, nattering on about starry skin just seems tone deaf.
Crazy. Selfish. Tone deaf.
That self-judgment (paired with occasional bursts of public shaming) is exactly why that womb cave is calling. I think we all need to pause, to tune into how the body, the nervous system, and the soul are straight up weary and need an intergalactic kind of break.
Even if you can count your blessings and tally your various privileges, that urge to set it all down and curl up for a nice long time is real. And it’s necessary.
It’s ok to admit you’re tired — even if you “shouldn’t” be so tired. You’re tired because layering the shoulds and shouldn’ts over your own experience is exhausting in itself. You’re tired because honesty is exhausting and because being dishonest about your wants and needs brings on even more fatigue.
A Writing Prompt About the Authentic Need to Rest
Perhaps you’re on the upswing right now. Your creativity is flowing. Your activism is aligned with your intentions. Your relationships are strong and you’re able to both give and receive.
That’s awesome. You can imagine what it’s like to crave a trip to the womb cave.
If you’ve gotten this far, however, I think you feel a bone-deep listlessness and you’d like to book a cozy spot in the cave, too.
Even better? Use your sensual imagination to describe exactly what you need right now.
You’re invited to describe what it is you really long for. This is an invitation to authenticity. This is a chance to speak the truth that always exists beneath the obligations and the “ought-to’s.”
Where do you long to be right now?
What do you long to hear?
What do you long to feel?
Think of it as writing a formula. A prayer. A spell.
You might be called to answer each question with one magic word. Perhaps you’ll write a page in response to each question.
No matter what, write about something you truly want. (No one is watching. This isn’t about proving how hard you’ve been studying or how much your willing to sacrifice for the greater good.)
Maybe you want to be on a cliff in Ireland with the song of the mermaids in your ears and the salt kiss of the north Atlantic on your face.
Maybe you want to be in a beach cabana listening to the laughter of your children back when they were small enough to curl up in your lap.
Maybe you just don’t know right now and you’ll borrow my vision until you have the strength to imagine your own healing haven.
There’s room in the womb cave. The Mother’s arms can carry us all and that heartbeat is never going to stop. There, we’ll realize that we’re truly loved to the stars and back, no matter what. And sometimes, that’s just what we need.
Rest in this space you’ve imagined. Stay a little while. Stay longer than you think you can.
The world will be waiting when you return. The good fight will still need to be fought. The kids will still need to be fed. The deadlines will still need to be met.
Trust yourself to imagine solace and healing. Trust yourself to come back when you’re ready. When you’re something closer to whole.
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