Early 1958 A.D. Back From The Void

Some of my earliest thoughts in this life cycle are of addiction. I spent my time in my mother’s womb going from one drunken binge and nicotine panic to another. I was not oblivious to the fights between my mother and father, and I can remember feeling as though I had made a terrible mistake coming here. Fear was what I felt. That and hung over most of the time, and the nicotine fits would have me spinning. The light of my soul hovered around the frail little body hesitating, and at the last moment slipped into the lower spine creating the kundalini, popping out chakras and filling the body with life.

Really, You’re Not a Body (am I trying to convince you or me?)

Some think the body is the whole thing, that your brain is the house that holds your essence. Scientists poke and prod the brain tissue like monkeys with a stick. Oh, look, I poke over here and that little thing moves. The brain must be who we are. Without ever stopping to think that perhaps the brain is in your mind.

The body is a tool, a communication device and a way for us to find forgiveness and realize our true nature. We are not bodies. We are free of the constraints that seem to hold us in a limited, meaty carcass dependent on clothing, food and shelter to survive. Except we aren’t, because we believe we are the product of birth in a body, and we believe we had nothing to do with that birth, that it was not our decision at all.  Further, many believe that God created this system, perhaps as a punishment, perhaps as his way of sorting out his good works from his bad works. Some try to explain our world by saying God works in mysterious ways and creates unlike Itself; that God can create a place that is unequal and savage, and that it is possible for God to create the opposite of love or that our own free will is stronger than God’s will for us.

This is all insanity of course. We project all of this with our thoughts. We create a world that lacks any kind of forgiveness, fill it with darkness and hate and fear for an insignificant god of ego. A psychopathic god that would create a person in a body that will eventually die, with a propensity for pain and suffering, with desires in themselves that draw them towards all manner of injury and insult on a spinning little rock of a planet as far from the center of the universe as it can be, that wobbles on its axis, overheats, overcools and creates events that tear though it, destroying everything in its path. And at the same time, this same, bipolar god insists we either love him or he’ll show us what real hell is. And we let the fear well up in our hearts without stopping for just one second and asking the Holy Spirit for guidance.

That was meant for me, by the way. It’s what I thought for many, many lifetimes. I believed that god was chasing me. That god was really pissed, that I had committed some terrible sin and that I needed to be punished. The guilt was so overwhelming that I spent many thousands of lifetimes going from one terrible nightmare to another. Being the victim and perpetrator and back again.


Warm Day, Easy Pregnancy, Quick Birth

It was a hot summer day when my mother ventured off to buy a record. She was pregnant and determined to walk to Woolworth’s department store. As she made the journey, her water broke and few hours later I slipped out of her. And while I was not ready for this life, my soul slipped into a tiny body and once that connection was made, I would become an angelic little boy with lily-white skin and tiny grey-green jewels for eyes.

Had I been able to talk when I was born, my first words would have been “I need a smoke and a shot of gin,” but I wasn’t able to talk, and the feeling was a crawling, itchy, skin-piercing sharpness; a desire at my very core that would be transformed into a wild panic and put a target on my tiny little back that would attract all kinds of misguided parasites in human form. I would turn to nearly anything to fill this desire to self-medicate that would take me down some very dark paths and lead to all manner of indulgences over the years.

Everything was blurry at first, and then the great forgetting took place. Smells and sounds were muffled and there was a deep sense of aloneness. The illusion of separation laid on me like the midsummer humidity sticks to heavyset people. The constant want lodged into the midst of my tiny body, and the ego sprung to life claiming to save me. Crying out, screaming its demands and taking over the body to direct it, help it survive and convince me that it was real.

There were two nurses who looked like huge, white ghosts; with skin so pale they were nearly transparent. I don’t remember any smiles, although I suppose at some point there were some. What I remember instead was the coldness of being carried off, scrubbed and wrapped. And from then until I was about four years old, I had the sense of being outside my body. It was as though I were slightly behind and above, but not inside, looking out. And while I now know most of what happened in those early years that caused my aura to slip away like that, and even though the kundalini was secured, committing me to this illusion, the pain and chaos were too great for my spirit to reside comfortably.

I remember thinking before I was born, and then even more as a little boy, that I should not have come when I did; and while I know now why I did, and it makes sense, I can also say that it was painful beyond my own imagining.

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