I’ve never given birth. I’ve witnessed one. Well, up to a point.

I was serving as an amateur doula for a dear friend who had every intention of having a natural birth. But the cord was wrapped around Baby’s neck. Twice. And 30+ hours of labor later, with Baby unable to descend, Mama was whisked off for an unexpected C-section. Only one person could accompany her into the operating room, so of course, her husband went with her. 

Mama got through it, and Baby turned out fine. I didn’t get to see the moment of birth, but what I did see was glorious and messy and planned and unplanned and sweaty and sacred and painful and precious and earthy and miraculous. 

It was also an affirmation for me that I’m just fine not having babies of my own, thank you very much. But I’m so grateful for that experience. 

This week, I had no intention of doing a piece about darkness and giving birth. I thought this collage was going to be full of golden yellows from the three-page Lion King ad that was in this New Yorker issue from December of 2014. That much color is such a sweet surprise of a gift. 

I chose this issue for its cover by George Booth. And because I wanted to keep the yuletide gay. I assumed it would give me some fun Christmas-y colors to work with. Not so much. But there were the yellows. And dark blue celestial colors. And fun patterns with blues and greens and purples. This issue just kept on giving.

Too much, actually. It was hard to decide which direction to go. I had an abundance of possibilities. And if you’re keeping up with each week’s offering (Thank you!), then you may remember that I tend to get paralysis if I have an abundance of possibilities.

So after reading through the issue, I kept coming back to the words that became the title.

INNER CRITIC URSULA: Really, Shad? You’re taking us back into the dark cave? You just did that a couple of weeks ago.

ME: I know, I know. But look at all the dark, glorious colors I have to work with!

URSULA: Well. I’ll just be sitting over here, silently judging. 

ME: You’re my rock.

It did seem ironic that I had just recently done a piece about creation coming out of the dark of a cave. But what helped direct me this week was a spread of photos from the 1965 Selma-to-Montgomery march. 

The movie Selma was released on Christmas Day of 2014 and was reviewed in this issue. This photo spread featured moments from when the marchers made it to Montgomery. The streets were lined with residents there to witness. The gamut of expressions in these photos was so compelling, I kept revisiting them.

I know that the Civil Rights Movement of the ‘60s was complex and multi-faceted. But considering these particular snapshots of time and space, I am struck with how the marchers took the darkest of situations and gave birth to change. 

I know, I know. The struggle continues—three steps forward, two steps back. But I think it’s fair to say that a new phase is being birthed, that more white people are waking up, that our American culture is in the midst of the messy and chaotic and unplanned and painful and sacred and long-overdue labor of dismantling a system built on the lie of white supremacy. 

The umbilical cord has been wrapped around our collective American neck, and—now that more white people are taking up the mantle—we are figuring out collectively how to actually create liberty and justice for all. That’s the world I am envisioning, anyway.

Darkness endeavors to give birth. I know many people equate “darkness” with “evil.” I think that’s short-changing it. “Evil” makes it easy to other-ize darkness, to fear it, to dismiss it as not within my purview, not my responsibility. 

I like to think of energy as energy—it can neither be created nor destroyed. Energy is neutral. We’re the ones who label it with qualities. Light, Dark, it’s all energy. Without light there would be no shadow. If I have the courage to shine a light on the darkness—within and without—I can see it more clearly and choose to take action, to transform it, to create something new out of it. 

And so here is my collage, with darkness endeavoring to give birth. It’s a little messy, a little chaotic. But it’s starting to take shape beautifully, if I do say so. 

If you look closely, you’ll find six pairs of eyes from the Selma-Montgomery march, including Dr. King’s.

Those eyes are part witness, part inspiration, part doula waiting to see what is being birthed.

THIS WEEK’S FEATURED CARTOON

P.S TO MY OWN FAMILY — Not you, sweeties!!

But you know I know you know this is hilarious.

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