When I was 24 I had one of the best nights out of my life.

It was a balmy sunset housewarming for my girlfriend’s new rooftop apartment. I stood gazing at the vibrant city skyline as my longtime “crush” asked me a question.

I was ecstatic. The Dublin vista was fresh with hope, and sparkling with tall cranes promising a life of such abundance that none of its young inhabitants could ever have dreamed of. I twirled around as he made his way towards me, taming my short summer dress in the salty Ringsend air. “Ask her!” Our friends surrounded eager to hear my reply. They were mostly his schoolmates, a charming bunch I’d invited to offset the mostly female American Airlines’ staff dancing on the breeze.

With the expansive energy of the evening my mind was flooded with the pure potentiality of the moment, and the undivided attention of some very handsome men. I quizzically smiled, the blush of rosé now kissing my cheeks as I met his aqua eyes.

“If you were pregnant, and found out the world was going to end, would you have the baby?” He gleefully challenged.

I was so thrown.

“The end is certain—annihilation for everyone—because we will be hit by a planet killer.” He clarified emphatically.

Mentally I had become “with child,” his child.

He cautioned me, “So knowing that was coming in about a year—would you have the child, or have an abortion?”

Now he wanted me to get rid of it?

I was horrified!

“Why would you ask me that?” I flamed.

I had to deal with this hypothetical dilemma one step at a time. I was already reeling from the intimacy of our longed for union, and becoming a mother, followed by his (to me) glib question. 

He, having no such investment in the running fantasy of a life together was a little perplexed by my response.

“All the guys said they would have an abortion.” He drunkenly laughed, “But you’re a girl so we wanted to know what you would do?” 

I was overwhelmed by the scenario. “I… I don’t know.” I said stunned at his disregard for our potential love child. “I’ll have to think about it…” I trailed off hiding my hurt and embarrassment beneath my long whipping hair. I tacked into the wind to disentangle myself away from the juvenile yacht rock crew.

My mind reeled: abortion wasn’t even legal in Ireland, how could he ask me that? Yet I knew that faced with this end of the world scenario, that was a moot point for this sophisticated bunch. Suddenly it was all so real for me. The societal pressure, the inconsiderate partner, the trauma of a choice where neither option seems to be love. I racked my brain for an answer. I literally ran every computation. But there was nothing that logically satisfied.

The roof top had become windswept and wild.
I sank deeper into myself and opened to a solution.

I was 10 when I first heard the phrase: It’s an ill wind that doesn’t blow some good. And ever since I had been running projections in my mind whenever I found something that felt like an impossible situation—until I could find the release point. I would defiantly look for the good in any outcome, because I believed it was inherently present.

But I was so angry at him for ruining that exquisite moment, with this existential crisis.

As the “mother” of this endangered child I felt honor bound to solve this conundrum immediately. I was all at sea, the sun had vanished leaving only the grey scaffolding of my dashed dreams. Everyone began to make their way back inside. 

The boys waited for me huddling together like the dramatic gathering clouds. I had to make a choice. It was all up to me.

As I spun around desperate to try and salvage the previous spirit of the night, accepting now that we would never be together, it dawned on me, illuminating my mind like his imagined meteor. 

“We’re going in.” he shouted as the sea swept up a storm. I determinedly strode up to him. “I would have the baby!” I exclaimed resolutely joyful, my hair flapping like Joan of Arc’s ensign. “Why?” He shirked, hands in pockets head down towards the held roof door.

I could tell the apocalypse was ruining his beer buzz but I didn’t care, he’d brought it on.

“Because” I said emphatically as I wrenched him around to look me in the eye like a romance drama. “Because, the child might be the Answer!” I exclaimed triumphantly. “What like some kind of Messiah?” He ridiculed attempting to disengage. We were the only ones left on the roof. “I, I don’t know.” I stammered still thinking, still linking his arm against the gusts. I realized that I might be on my own with this phantom pregnancy.

But the magnitude of the insight persisted. I countered passionately, “But I couldn’t cut off the possibility that this birth was somehow part of the solution—for everyone!” We both pictured the helpless baby. “Somehow…” I dug deeper.

He looked disappointed in me, like the intellectual companion he was used to conversing with had diminished to a sentimental fool. But it was right there at the forefront of my being, I could feel it…

Eureka!

“Like a new perspective! The child would bring The Answer!!!” I was jubilant.

He was not enthused.

Once inside I let go of his arm as he fought to close the exterior door. “Let’s go” he declared, the twisting stair-well swallowing his descending echo.

He was lost to me now, and I was irrevocably changed.

The scenario felt so real to me. Shaken I slowly and deliberately took each stiletto step down. Then dragged the long corridor disorientated and heavy to the wall. 

Like a drift net I trawled the scene for my pre-choice personae. The apartment “party” now seemed like a sad blank walled box as people quickly dispersed to catch the last bus home, before the lashing rain.

Thunder struck.

Someone turned on a lamp in the dimming room.

Everything was surreal.

“Are you not coming?” He asked kindly, a little surprised. I was sitting barefoot, cross-legged on the floor as he exited with the lads. “No” I answered reconciled to this internal choice, “I’m going to walk home, myself.”

The air was pregnant with pause. I turned to my American hostess friend, she was clutching a full bottle of wine and a corkscrew in her new empty space. She looked forlorn, so we talked about her slightly diminished aspiration that this new life in Ireland would offer the love she craved. Lightning crackled across the sky. Secretly she feared this Celtic tiger might bite her in the ass, and that once more she would have to begin, again.

The heavens opened and the rain began to pour.

Later that night as I streaked the wet pavement home holding my high heels, a deluge of awareness washed my mind of the life I thought I had been born to live.

“Find a girl settle down,
If you want you can marry,
Look at me I am old but I’m happy.”
—Cat Stevens

As I wound my way for miles through the sweeping streets, a more profound, as yet unseen reality began to proliferate my awareness.

The next day at work having had an earlier shift, and almost in apology—though he knew not why, or for what—aqua man left his mother’s copy of The Prophet on my call center desk.

And with that, I embarked.

“Now there’s a way
And I know that I have to go away
I know, I have to go.”
—Yusuf

Post Script: The birth of Christ in our hearts is the second coming. The Messiah brings a message of Love and Present Peace. That the Kingdom of God is here, now! It is our choice to Accept this Christ Identity as a Child of God.

That night on the roof top my mind was opened through an experience of choice beyond problem solving. Now the Clarity of what was exposed with this simulated story set me on a path of questioning my life expectations, conditioning, culture, race, religion, economics, and personhood. With a growing development of trust I have been led on many adventures of Forgiveness (seeing the minds mistaken thinking and allowing a shift in perception and therefore identification). This Spirit led Life is perfectly orchestrated to facilitate Acceptance. That is all time is for, to be used on behalf of Eternity to Awaken to Reality, now!

The kingdom of heaven is at hand.
—Matthew 3:2

The perfect gift for anyone journeying and questioning on the road of life. Few books can be described as universal. And yet, The Prophet, by Lebanese-American author Kahlil Gibran, can only be described as that. Originally published in 1923, The Prophet is considered Gibran’s masterpiece and is one of the most beloved spiritual classics of all time.

 

Click to download the book in PDF

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