rebirth Blog and Journals

You will be born. You will suffer in the process, cold, wet, and naked to an unfamilar world, to the room that you have just opened your eyes to, having left the comfort of the only home you ever knew (your mother's womb). And they will cut you from her. Them, with masks on, drowning you with air and lights. They will snip your connection to her.
   Immediately you see that she is suffering to. She may even have endured as much as you, but you're not sure. You're only searching for a way back, for some kind of shelter, for a way back to the comfort that you have known inside your shell.
   For so long, all you knew was internal. Your mind, your body was inside. Only murmurs of this and that, some unintelligible noise disturbing or comforting you. Otherwise alone. There was safety in being alone. You are not alone. Not anymore.  
   The one you were cut from, came out of, are crying with, is reaching out to you. So far away. But their reach is so far away and you are helpless, flailing limply in the clutch of this strange masked person with cold and dry hands, holding you out. But now you are being moved across the room toward these outstretched hands of the one you came from. This one must know how to send you back to where you came from. They can put you back. But instead, they take you in their clutch. But they, not masked like the others, look at you with eyes so full of . . . fear, and wonder, and love . . . that for a moment you feel almost warm, sheltered, and safe again.
   Time passes and she never puts you back. In fact, the more time passes, the more you want to venture out and the more she lets go of you. Soon, you start to go so far that you shelter yourselt. You've found warmth in one thing or the other, or nothing at all, but you don't need her, you think. You're fine on your own. Except you aren't. You suffer. You suffer in new ways all the time so that you can never build a tolerance to the pain. But there is also comfort. There is pain, but the comfort you find is more rich, more powerful than anything you have felt before. So powerful that you suffer in wanting it so badly. So powerful that it sticks with you. Even in the end, it is there.
   Again, the masked people surround you as you lay in this unfamiliar place. Cold and naked, you look for outstretched arms, but they are not here. No one is here. Not even the masked people, for they left sometime while you were coming in and out of conciousness, awareness. Only machines murmur some intelligible noise, disturbing or comforting you. You cry, once again, tears of sadness and tears of joy. Sadness for the comfort you leave behind, joy for the pain that is almost over.
   You close your eyes and slip into a home you have never known (a tomb). And just as they have covered you in complete darkness, you feel a familiar touch of someone welcoming you to a new and unfamiliar world, the place you have just opened your eyes to. You are drowned by air and lights, colors and sounds, comfort and love. No tomb, no womb, but a place where all born connected to everything. All is one. All is comfort. All is love.