On a birth date, nine months of pregnancy culminate in a single stretch, the peak of labor which releases with screams of new life. Often mothers and fathers wonder what their child’s life will be like and stitch optimistic uncertainty together with hope, love, and all the resources they can muster. For babies whose parents have known no such fabric, there is some sort of cosmic optimism, a gentle love, that breathes life into form and paints expectation with a different brush.

It’s worth noting that “pregnant” has a second meaning, outside of, though certainly related to, the development of a child inside a woman’s uterus. The second definition of pregnancy is “full of meaning; significant or suggestive” according to the Oxford Dictionary.

The suggestion of life – or more broadly the suggestion of something inside of something else – lights paths otherwise dimmed, giving the opportunity for meaning to arise. To see a pregnant being is to naturally expect that life will emerge from it.

As life progresses, the child grows, parents age, friends weave into the frame, and birthdays take on a new shade of meaning and expectation. Departing from the optimistic and sometimes imposed expectations of others, birthdays reveal different layers of awareness. Our choices, present circumstances, and mortality become more vivid.

Birthdays then become a space and time for us to reflect on the expectations we have for ourselves – the expectations we fell short of and those we wish to rise to in our coming journey around the sun. We must hold a sense of self-compassion as we walk between these extremes, as identity forms in the wake of our evolving self.

A lot of people claim not to like their birthday, the reason generally roots in some form of protection against past disappointment or sadness. When birthday celebrations are soured or neglected, when egos go to battle for the biggest slice of cake, walls erect swiftly around the heart of a child whose deepest hunger is simply to be loved. From behind those walls, the hardest light to see is gratitude.

Only when we let go of all the expectations around how others might see us and celebrate us on our special day of all days, the walls dissolve and the light of gratitude pours into the darkest cob-webbed corners of the heart. Without expectations of what life might be, we can play within the boundaries of what this life is and experience the beauty of how we might be celebrate each other.

In the light of gratitude, we play, with the children we were and the children we are, serving each other abundant helpings of joy and laughter, the very sweetness that connects us in this effulgent celebration of life.

words from How Can I Help? by Ram Dass & Paul Gorman (1985). fire on a bar in Hosuton, TX, taken by a dear friend, August 28, 2025.

Swami Vivekananda brought Yoga and Hinduism to the Western world in the late 1890s, and carried with him a deep respect for everyone and all. He initiated and upheld women as leaders in spiritual practice and daily life, reifying the teachings of his faith and compassion for the modern age.

The following quotes are from Swami Vivekandanda’s translations and interpretations of The Yoga Sutras by Patanjali.

“We are living in the midst of such a mass of miracles day and night that we do not think anything of them”

“Our sweet nurse Nature… she gently took the self-forgetting soul by the hand, and showed him all the experiences in the universe, all manifestations, bringing him higher and higher through various bodies, till his glory came back, and he remembered his own nature.”

“Our sweet nurse Nature… she gently took the self-forgetting soul by the hand, and showed [her] all the experiences in the universe, all manifestations, bringing him higher and higher through various bodies, till [her] glory came back, and [she] remembered [her] own nature.”

Lastly and worth repeating — words from “Any Road” by George Harrison:

And if you don't know where you're goin'

Any road will take you there

You may not know where you came from

May not know who you are

May not have even wondered

How you got this far

I've been travellin' on a wing and a prayer

By the skin of my teeth, by the breadth of a hair

Travellin' where the four winds blow

With the sun on my face, in the ice and the snow

But, ooh-wee, it's a game

Sometimes you're cool, sometimes you're lame

Ah yeah, it's somewhere

If you don't know where you're goin'

Any road will take you there

Done are the days

or dimming

when I 

had to 

feel the fire 

to know

the burn.

How I relished 

the suffering

brought by

desires to 

dig in the

dark ash 

of longing.

No gold, no

mercy, no 

rest after

the feast 

of fear.

Now I 

know I 

don’t need

to fan

the flame

to know

the light. 

Hurry slowly 

when tides 

rise and

duty rushes

pace

Hurry slowly

dash about

check those

boxes with

hardlines and

grace

Hurry slowly, 

you need 

only be 

where you 

are

Hand in 

hand, There 

and Time 

await to 

welcome you

whole.

To define it: to intercede is to intervene on behalf of another. 

From a secular perspective, we intercede for others who are suffering, whether with presence, nourishment, or some other aid. To intercede carries a quality of service outside of prescribed duty — you don’t have to intercede. Instead, you do it for some other reason or reasons. An essence of appeal or spark of connection impels you to help or advocate or give. 

You become a conductor of care with interventions that go beyond mere intervening and interruption. With intercessions, love – not the romantic kind, but rather the broader, unifying kind – flourishes because the gravity of the circumstance is understood, felt, believed, and ultimately shared.

I’ve been wondering lately about how memories and dreams intercede between our unconscious and conscious mind. With their every appearance, memories and dreams bring imagery and sensation to the bridge of our awareness, ushering the past across and into the present. 

Sometimes these intercessions feel as though they’re riding on the backs of demons rather than angels or saints. Painful memories, terrifying dreams, and dark thoughts take up indefinite residency in the mind. 

It’s easier to ignore them, until it’s not. It’s easier then to let them consume you, until you estrange yourself completely from gratitude and joy. And I don’t mean joy in the bubbly, surface-smile kind – I mean joy in the subtle sense, the joy that lights your skin from within.

We can detect patterns and symbols in the images and sensations of our memories and dreams when we give attention to them. The patterns help us to understand what to focus on, what something could mean, and how we might live this life (differently) in a way that better suits our nature.

Witnessing the flow of the pattern as something separate from the witness is fundamental to Buddhism, Stoicism, and Jungian psychology, to name only a few of the many philosophies focused on focusing within in order to live wholly and without. Which is just to say that these are not new thoughts, far from novel, much closer to universal when you practice embracing a steady and agile perspective of your own inner landscape.

- - -

And in the horizon’s fading light, shadows will emerge. Intercessions from our unconscious darkness, the darkness cultivated by that which we chose to ignore or couldn’t properly address in their first occurrence, are carried perhaps not by demons but by angels who know we are ready for the challenge of our own becoming.

Perhaps these angels are answering the prayers of our future selves or the prayers of our forgotten primitives. The worst is experienced on behalf of the good. To see both and hold them equally is to be free.