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20

Baba's Birthday Poem

1984

 

Happy Birthday, Dear Baba.
The joy of Your birth comes painfully to me,
as did the birth of my son.
One can resist or yield. Either way there is pain.
But there is joy in eliminating the pain of resistance
to allow the pain of birth its glory.
So in single-minded yielding my son was born.
He came with Your presence all over him.
His birthday was Your birthday.
And Your birthday was my birthday.
 
As I held him for the first time,
I knew You held him as You hold me.
I saw him cry as I loved him,
as, in my ignorance, I cry in the presence of Your love.
As I changed his diapers, he did not know his discomfort
was my caring for him,
as I do not always know my suffering is in Your loving care.
 
How You must smile at my tears as I smile at his.
How You must laugh with my laughter as I laugh with him.
My joy in watching him grow is Your joy in watching me grow.
For You are the child and the mother.
You are the receiver and the giver.
You are birth.
Every moment is Your birthday.
With every breath
my soul is born.
With each contraction
my heart must learn to love the pain of expanding
to allow your emergence.
 
In the breath of each of us, You are being born always.
As we embrace each other, You are being born.
As we suffer in our separation, You are being born.
As we are bonded in love, You are being born.
As we are doubtful and despairing, You are being born.
As we sing in the joy of Your presence, You are being born.
 
The power of Your birth is irrepressible,
for as You are being born, so are we.
Happy Birthday, Beloved Baba.
Happy Birthday to Us All!
—Radha Delamarter Busfield

 

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