The Anatomy of a Divine Birth - Surrender or Decay
June 15. Before Sunrise. The light at this hour is a mere insinuation, a faint, grey luminescence that slowly dissolves the silhouettes of the objects in the room. Everything is still. My breathing is the only rhythm connecting me to the world, yet even it carries the heavy weight of transition. There are moments in life—long, endlessly settling moments—when you feel like a vessel that has been sealed for far too too long. A fermenting, ripening state. Psychoanalysis would call this condition resistance, a defense mechanism, a cocoon meticulously woven by the ego to protect itself from the disintegration of the familiar. The soul, however, experiences it as a pregnancy whose term is expiring. A silence in which a cry is being born. For a long time, I believed that safety was the ultimate good. That remaining within the enclosed, warm space of my old habits, familiar pains, and comforting illusions was an act of self-preservation. The psyche is a brilliant architect of shelters. I...
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