A Vicious Cycle

Family snuggles are the best. I think of those snuggles whenever the tremors start. Those fond memories are the only thing that bring me comfort these days. For so long our family relied on each other, heavily dependent. We knew everything about each other, right down to the generations of DNA and genetic coding in our histories. We stayed close. Huddled. Practically embedded. We ate together, slept together, leaned on each other, communicated frequently. Our family was our everything and we all had that in common. Secluded from the rest of our world, our universe. All we knew was each other. We were all we had. All we’d known. We’d never been apart, never had thoughts of what it would be like to be separated. We’d never had to have those thoughts because no one could fathom the idea. No, not fathom. No one knew that being apart could ever even be an option, so fathoming doesn’t even scratch the surface. We only knew forever with each other.

Most people understand the word ‘forever’ simply because they understand the opposite. People know of words like “temporary’, ‘change’, ‘never’, etc. We didn’t know such words could exist. Therefore, the shock of learning that there was an opposite of our constant...well, it was traumatizing to say the least. People grieve the loss of their forever all while understanding that ‘forever’ can evaporate. They know things can evolve or end, and still these people mourn when evolution or endings occur. Now imagine a consciousness that did not know an opposite of forever could exist. I would much rather know change could happen, bracing myself for its’ potential, than to learn deep into my existence a frightful vocabulary consisting of...well...the meaning of inconsistency. We experienced a death of our reality. That’s the only way I can describe what happened semiaccurately. We experienced the discovery of death, which was nonexistent before. 

Before the tremors.

When they started. ‘Forever’ was disrupted.

The shakes. This tugging, sucking force. Unstoppable. Invisible hands reaching up, extraordinary pressure pushing down.

When the first tremor happened, we didn’t know what feeling to adopt. Fear? Excitement? Anxiety? Then the tremors came more frequently and we thought we could time them. Predict them, if you will. And we did, to some extent. We began to learn when to brace ourselves for impact. We created an internal clock of sorts. We held our breath, held each other, squeezed our eyelids shut until the vibrating whooshing quelled. Afterwards we would look around in relief. Sighs, small chuckles, more snuggles. Eventually we started having celebrations when the tremors ended. Seriously. We became so accustomed to these newfound quakes that when they ended, a new tradition was birthed. These spasms weren’t as painful as they were suffocating. I’m not sure if this explanation paints an accurate picture. They felt...constricting. Imagine lungs contracted and expelling. That’s what these tremors felt like to us. But oh, so vicious. Almost as though during the expansion, a gust of powerful wind was trying to tear apart our family.

And while I use negative words to describe these tremors, we did not know they were negative at the time. I am reflecting from a place of knowledge. Back then, we didn’t know if the tremors were good or bad. They were just unknown. I know now what the tremors would soon lead to and therefore am attaching all the negative adjectives I can muster to them. 

Isn’t it strange how survival can lead to celebration? Some awful, threatening thing happened and because you survived you cheer. You made it through the darkest of times only to see the light. A happiness born only from the fear of death. We felt and enjoyed light all the same before the dark. Not sure why we needed it.  And why do we celebrate survival instead of resenting what we survived? Maybe relief shrouds the fear? Maybe there are those who do not...can not celebrate survival? I’ve accepted that there are many things that I never (ah, the use of this new word), and won’t ever know or understand. I have learned that for some reason, a constant state of peace does not suffice on some grander, spiritual level. There must be strife. Celebration felt just fine when activated by happiness alone. I am not sure why pain was a necessary ingredient to existence.

I should add this very pertinent piece of information as well. I feel like you, the observer or the reader, deserve to know. This information will probably help you understand our story a touch better: We are eggs. Myself, my family that I speak of, we are all eggs. Or at least that is what our host has named us or better yet, has reduced us to. We are actually infinity and the eternal. We are the great beyond. The future. The continuous. We are unending. Do you see now why death has marred us so? We are, in fact, the opposite of death. But to our host and all the other human species, we are...eggs. We live inside a warm, dark area. Never alone. Always close. We nestle here in bliss with the soothing vibrations and quiet murmurs of the body working around us. Comfort. 

The tremors lasted around 15 days before anything of merit happened. Regretfully, the length of the uneventful shakes lulled us right back into that accustomed place of peace. We thought this new reality was triggered by our hosts’ environment, nothing that would directly impact us. How wrong we were. It’s been quite some time since the first attack wounded and eventually scarred us. But I remember it like it was yesterday...

We had timed the next tremor, it would be happening shortly. Around 60-90 seconds to be exact. We were anticipating the usual rumble, vibrations that made us bounce around, gently nudging each other. And then the more uncomfortable tugging sensation that would end soon enough. 

Except this time, it didn’t end. This time the tugging gripped, grasped, sucked, yanked, slurped...and for the first time ever, ever in our existence within this host body, one of our family members was separated. Dragged from us. The pain was unreal caused by intense, overwhelming cramping. The force was unbearable, brutal. We did not have names for each other, as all our coding was inherent and engrained. But if I had to name the first egg that left our home, I would name it Emergence. Standing for the biblical term “Genesis” and the scientific term, “Evolution”. Emergence was the start of a new way of living. When Emergence was first ripped from our home, it stayed lodged in a canal a few inches beneath us. Not inches, centimeters. This felt taunting. Why would Emergence be trapped and yet still visible to their loved ones, just out of reach of their home? Torturous. For 13 long days Emergence lay in the canal in full view of their family and yet entirely helpless. There was nothing we could do. Their escape in sight and yet unreachable, Emergence stayed wedged by this unknowable force that suctioned and then stalled it. Looking back, the most painful part of this experience was thinking there could be some sort of solution. Since we could see Emergence, we could save Emergence, right? Wrong. The concept of hopelessness eluded us. We had not yet learned to equate hopelessness with death. To be honest, we had not quite learned the concept of hopelessness, period.  We’d only just become acquainted with potential loss, much less the permanence of death. These discoveries took a toll on us that would last the lifetime of our hosts’ body. 

First the tremors. Then the sucking vortex. Then the purgatory of Emergence being lodged in the canal. And finally, after 13 dramatically long days, a warm, bubbling whoosh of red liquid to finish the job. We knew blood well. Of course we did. We did not know blood in this manner. A familiar stranger. This felt like betrayal. The gurgling of the blood whispers to us that this was always meant to be, that this act was a part of its’ job. As the blood swirled like a whirlpool it tried to comfort us, shush us, calm us. It tried to tell us that things had to be this way. That we’d understand eventually, in time. But time did not mean what it used to mean, as now we know time can end. What weight did time hold now? What depth could it still have? The blood cooed and we cringed. Helpless. Hopeless. If we did get used to surviving this would we celebrate like before?

Before. 

No.

Depending on who you ask this cycle that we now endure could be viewed as one symbolizing health, fertility, the epitome of life. Depending on who you ask, blood can be seen as rich, gem colored, thick flowing life. 

Depending on who you ask. Pain is coded like genetics. It warps the viewpoints of all, skewing them differently. Pain is unique. Different like fingerprints. What blood is to one, it is the opposite to another. What this cycle represents depends on who you ask. At least we all understand some aspect of pain, right? Even if the pain looks, smells, feels different?  In that sense, we are all family. We are together in our pain. Family snuggles. Family. Pain. Life. Death. Blurred and smudged and dyed, I can’t sift apart these meanings. The vast differences and similarities of these opposite unifications. 

Odd that health and pain could go hand in hand. Odder that our host has introduced strange hormones to our system. And foreign objects into her canal. Odd that sometimes her body rejects these things and more pain erupts. Everything was quite odd and traumatic for quite some time. I’m sorry to say there’s nothing more to report to you, reader. Observer. This is it. My morbid tale from within.

                                                          * * *

Hello again.

At long last I have something new to report. I’m scared of the glee this news has instilled within me. Within my family. But I cannot deny the joy that has consumed us.  

We have found purpose! Meaning. 

Oh my. Oh my. What a long journey to get to this place. 

Decades have passed and I do believe I have finally discovered the beauty in this vicious cycle. The answer to why we had to suffer through so, so much change. Such forceful, relentless change. Loss and pain, repeated rapidly. Unpredictable hormones and reactions and foreign intrusions. Why it was necessary for Emergence to be the first, the beginning. Why that name fits Emergence in such a devastatingly perfect way.

An embryo has formed and currently, we are watching the fruit of our labor. The worth behind our pain. The physicality of love and peace blossoming. Our family has turned into one consisting of designers. Creators. Artists. Sculpting a life based on the coding and combinations of histories and pasts, culminating the beginning of time with the present. Blending the billions of years Earth has existed to now. And with every cycle now leads to the next billion years of existence. It took a very long time for things to make sense and I commend the strength of my host, the hosts before, and the hosts to come starting with the one thrumming and pulsing with life. An embryo. A new life. Growing every single day. Everything is changing, and in the most necessary way.

Every heartbeat, a celebration.