The Womb of the World

  The Womb of the World The Earth as the great maternal vessel where souls gestate in matter There are mornings when I wake and feel the pulse of the Earth through the soles of my feet — slow, ancient, wordless. It is not merely ground beneath me; it is a breathing body , and somewhere deep inside, I sense that I am being carried still, cradled within a vast, living womb . The soil, the rivers, the air — all of it feels maternal, as though existence itself has drawn me into its warm interior, asking me to grow in silence, to mature in shadow, to prepare for a birth that is yet to come. Sometimes I wonder if we ever truly leave the womb. Perhaps birth is not an exit but a deepening, a descent into layers of form. The body is another chamber , another membrane of mystery through which consciousness must pass to learn what it means to be both finite and infinite. The world — this dense, fragrant, trembling organism we call Earth — might be the first and last mother, the one who re...

But is there anyone to hear?

 

Little one, it follows its inner guide,
But what fate awaits it, what will betide?
Self-destruction... a sorrowful theme,
Yet nature rebalances, it may seem.
For her, no sadness, no right or wrong,
She acts by her principles, steadfast and strong.
If only we sensed them within our core,
We wouldn't unleash what we deplore.
Humanity, with its flawed understanding,
Afflicts the planet, it's alarming.
We kill ourselves, pollute our source,
Yet nature simply reflects our course.
Will we heed the symptoms she displays?
Realize our interconnected ways?
Recognize the need for responsibility,
For everything is like the body's ability.
The physical body, it has its bound,
After showing symptoms, all around,
If not treated, problems persist,
And like the body, it ceases to exist.
So too with Earth, the signs are clear,
But is there anyone to hear?

 


 

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