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The womb

I am the prodigious child of Father Sky and Mother Earth. I am the author of numerous unpublished stories…

This vast expanse of ether that exists between my father and my mother, this is the (my) womb. I spend a lifetime here, but I am greatly restricted. As a child in his mother’s womb, I cannot freely move about. I cannot jump up and touch my father or hold is hand. As a child inside the womb, I am attached to my mother, my earth, my life source.

But it is possible – so I’ve heard, from fellow brothers and sisters who’ve come and gone before me – that one can remain in the womb and yet feel as if outside of it. It is possible to still be attached to Mother Earth yet not feel attached, to feel as if I’m completely free. The attachment that remains, then, is merely a physical one, and is of no consequence once the liberation of freedom has been tasted [achieved].

It’s as if the surgeon of wisdom performs a Cesarean section on my mother’s womb. The Earth yields under his magical knife like silk slithers down a young woman’s fresh, smooth skin. As the gentle Earth submits, I see the light of day…I see my father’s white hair (so long that sometimes it covers up his eyes and renders darkness upon my Mother’s skin), and I realize that Nature has played a wonderfully subtle trick on me – that even though I’m attached to my mother’s skin, this beautiful surface of land I call Mother Earth, I am not I. I am something unattached, something immortal, eternal.

And so I begin to see. Not see, but see. What do I see? I see that I am spirit, generously protected inside this shell I call my body. Outside my body is another, much larger, enclosure around me – this being my mother’s womb, the Earth. Her bodily fluids (the air, the water, the sunlight she graciously receives everyday from my Father) sustain my body, and keeping the body healthy lets my spirit soar…beyond borders, beyond boundaries, beyond skins.

When my spirit has traveled beyond the womb, I come close to my father, and I see the way he looks at my mother. The fondness and gentleness in his eyes instantly strips me. In that moment I am lower than humble. My spirit soars beyond the heavens upon realizing that the love between mother and father is none other than God. One is empty, barren, without the other. And I without both.

There I lie, in my protective bubble, that stretches and moves as I do. That’s my sacred home, that’s my mother’s blessed womb. And yet the entire world is mine. I am the world. If this doesn’t go against all logic and reasoning…this life is not all there is – this life is all there is.

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