The Sky I Was Born Under

I was born under the same sky as anyone else. It was a blue sky somewhere between morning and evening. Something I’ve noticed about skies which seems to hold true for people also: all sky is vast, at once bespeckled with clouds and rain in one hemisphere, while clear in another. People too, are vast; immense in out capability for love, sorrow, kindness, hatred, fear. Our possibilities like the sky, are endless.

A vast blue open sky, a blank slate. It is good to be born under the sky, I would’ve like that. I think everyone should be born under a naked sky, so the first thing a baby sees is endless possibility. I wonder if that would help us. If, by being born so, we’d remember our birth. Instead of hospital lights and a masked doctor… and open sky with each star shining. No wonder people don’t remember they’re births, how traumatic most are.

Imagine being born, forced to leave the soft, warm womb, is it like dying? Not knowing why your time in that space is ending, or what will become of you: Suddenly this foreign object comes through as you’re being squeezed out. Is it the hand of God? what’s God? Do you know divinity in the womb? This strange, artificial hand grabbing your head, being pulled by latex through a tine fissure. Are you being strangled? When you finally squeeze through and feel air for the first time, would you think you’ve died?

When did I forget?


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