The True Birth
Sometimes, in the quietest hours of the night, when the world tucks away its noisy outlines, I return to the beginning. I think of that primal act by which we enter reality. We are born physically, passing through the narrow, suffocating passage of flesh, through that first dark tunnel that knows neither words nor thoughts, only blind trust, pressure, and an irresistible, cruel direction forward. But more and more often, I think that this is only the beginning of a much longer birth. That our entire life in this physical dimension is not a state of completion, but a continuing birthing process, simply in another form. All the walls we crash into as we walk through our days. All the pains that have forced us into silence. All the wounds, resistances, contradictions, and limitations—they are not punishment, nor are they accidents. They are our ongoing labor pains. This is a spiritual passage through the narrowness of human existence. The truth that shines through the veil of the ...
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