A typical Zen understanding says that life cannot be described, only experienced, this is also true of birth. Trying to see all of life or all of birth at once, is like trying to explore a vast cave with a box of matches. The only way to truly see, know, and understand, is to place oneself square in the midst of it, let go, surrender, breathe, move with, and revel in every present moment as it unfolds, lingers, and departs. It is rather like listening to music. If we discover a piece of music which we feel to be utterly sublime, we cannot choose to hear its entirety all at once. We must welcome and revel in each note as it springs to life, harmonizes with others, becomes silent, and passes away, creating the moments of rest and emptiness between, which allow us to distinguish one note from another, and yet know the piece as a whole. To perceive and grasp the beauty of the music, we must allow it to wash over us as it will, without striving to race forward to realize its end, else we will never experience the music at all, missing its every imparting of present moment loveliness. It would be similar to trying to grasp water with our bare hands in order to discern all its qualities. Yet, the faster and harder we grasp, the more it will slip through our fingers. In order to know the quality of water, we must wade fully into, surrender, and be engulfed and carried by its plenteous profusion. Life and birth are just so as well.
Life, just like labor and birth, can only be experienced one breath at a time, its entirety only realized by the surrender to, and acceptance of, one surging, cresting wave as it rises up, meets the shoreline, and passes away once more. Our part is to simply be as the wooing shoreline, eagerly beckoning and welcoming the wave to come forth, drenching us with the exuberant voluptuousness of its auspicious, aqueous kiss.