I’ve always had a sense of primal nature. I’ve always been aware of the rhythm of nature in those essential differences between male and female that make the mingling of the two so perfectly scintillating, so irresistible. The pattern of life, the innate urges that harken back to purer, more savage times. The basic purity of the need to eat, to sleep, to hunt, to mate, to procreate. Compulsions that slip the tether of refined, evolved society while still running through its veins. And it has always seemed strange and ironic to me that I seemed so much more attuned to these undeniable compulsions than those around me, yet more than any of them, I have remained apart from these compulsions, feeling them but never experiencing them. All my life, I have, in some inarticulate place inside me, seemed to be waiting to dive in, to be swept overboard. And all I’ve ever known is the coldness let in by the door I left open.
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How constantly astonishing it is, then, to have finally come into that which I always felt so keenly. It stays in my mind, and I wonder what others’ eyes make them see of life that they can walk through their days and take for granted that they are with someone they love, are sharing their life, are bringing a child into the world, and truly feel their life is ordinary. I don’t seem to have the gene necessary to take those things for granted. Maybe the gene got burned out of me as years fell into time and I was still alone.
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All I know is I am constantly aware – over and under and through every moment’s consciousness – of those animal instincts that make these human experiences so powerful and magical. My mate. Male to my female. So strong and muscled where I am soft and white. So tall where I am small. So straight where I curve. Our differences dizzy me. I look so hard at him, my eyes grow warm with the concentration. I look at the animal kingdom and can’t feel so civilized. I don’t feel so apart from it. We humans may have high, intricate thought patterns, may have invented wildly wonderful things. But the most satisfying human experiences are the ones that are closest to the undeniable simplicity of the animals. The life-long bond of mates. The instinctive defensiveness of home. The purpose of continuing the species.
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And as my belly swells with my mate’s child, I feel at last that I have dived into the current of life. The entire point of a species, the ultimate urge that cannot be denied, is the propagation of itself. I have watched others do this while I have stood apart. A dead-end. A gene pool when there should be a river, flowing into and then out of the pool. I was only unto myself, and somehow felt at odds with nature. There was more to my destiny than just my own life, my own self. The river kept lapping at my feet, sucking me gently into its current, but I couldn’t immerse myself. All of human life flowed on in its proper pattern, but I was like a dam, storing up all I have to offer, all of the fruition of those who came before me along hundreds and thousands of years. Rich life pulsed in my veins, strength and goodness, health and possibilities, and all of it stayed locked up. And nature flowed on past me, always showing me what was supposed to be.
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But now, I have stepped into the river. Like the animals, I have a purpose. I have finally come into that purpose. I am giving life. This flawed humanity that so many believe doesn’t deserve to continue, will only devour its young, is swelling in number by one. I am giving the world another child, and it is proof of my kinship with unstoppable nature that all the arguments for not bringing a child into the dangerous, devolving, depraved world, that there are so many children who are already here who need homes, cannot dissuade me. This world has enough children! A ragged, unwanted army, and yet I can no more stay my footsteps down this path than walk on the ocean – I must have a child. My body has its purpose, it will not be denied.
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