The light we're still Crawling towards

I has this wild thought first thing this morning. It's below

They say we’re born once from the womb to the world. But I don’t buy it. Not all the way. Because I remember something else. Not clearly, not with words but with a weight in my chest that says: You’ve seen the light before.

And I wonder, what if we’re not the living moving toward death, but the unborn moving toward true birth?

We spent nine months in a sacred darkness, suspended in rhythm, heartbeat, and muffled song. We knew the world before the world knew us. And then, we were yanked into brightness, blinded by the strange, slapped by the cold, and we cried. Loudly. Maybe not because we were afraid. Maybe because we knew what we left.

That was birth, they said.

But what if it was just the first threshold? The first veil? What if the real delivery has yet to come?

We call this life the light. We chase it, speak of it, worship it. But light isn't the destination, it’s the corridor. The hallway between two sacred places. The womb behind us. The unknown ahead.

And the religions, the myths, the whispers handed down? They all smell like truth half-remembered. Each one tells a different version of the same secret: We come from the beyond. We pass through this plane. We return to something brighter than light.

Maybe that’s why every child stares at the sky like it’s home. Maybe that’s why we dream in colors we’ve never seen and long for things we’ve never had. Because part of us remembers. Not just where we’ve been, but where we’re going.

So I ask: What if this isn’t the end of the journey? What if this is the birth canal, the squeeze, the pressure, the contractions of the soul as it labors toward its next becoming?

We call it death. But I don’t think death is a finish line. I think it’s a beginning so big, we’ve mistaken it for the end, just like i'd imagined we felt when we outgrew the womb.

We are not the dying. We are the crowning. And one day, we’ll break through the light into whatever waits on the other side, not as the lost, but as the born.

Thanks for reading

~SH