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As then, so now, as within, so without
What are we creating in the darkness when we are in mother’s
womb? For which function are these organs fashioned? Can their
labour be predicted, their travail known? What future awaits
us, already perceived by the consciousness of our cells but veiled
to our nascent senses? The dawn has not yet awakened the abilities
of the future child, and yet it is the sun that lurks at the
threshold of organ formations, it is the light itself that organises
the procession of the cells, the light that the cells are. A
new universe on the making evolved in the darkness of our mother’s
womb, yes the call of the new, awesome in its reach, rising from
chaos, the knock at the door of matter. For what purpose are
these empty spaces prepared, in the skull as sinuses, in the
chest as lungs, in the pelvis as womb? The single womb, carrier
of the dark, echoes the singleness of the pineal gland, chalice
of light, ready to receive yet more light.
Immersed in the amniotic fluid, did the body consciousness know
that the lungs were being prepared for respiration, that the
womb yearned to be filled by a new life? Unconsciously, naturally,
and automatically organs were prepared in a liquid medium for
future functions, the present unfolding “knowing” the
future outcome. By organising themselves in a particular fashion,
the cells were aware instinctively of their destiny.
It was then, and now, now what? Which movement of being, already
inscribed at the heart of the cells, is yearning to be revealed?
Which birthing have we been preparing since birth? If our destiny
is already at the source of our faculties, then what terror must
be assuaged so that we may burst into light, into life? Will
the roused light be met with blind animal paralysis? Will the
roar of creation in the making be reduced to a tame whimper?
If we don’t embrace our destiny, is the radiance of matter
conscious of itself as human destined to be the humus of far
distant realised universes?
Next to the cosmos (what arrogance!), will we stop the cycles
repeating themselves in their cosmic game, and force it to feed
us fresh insights, in a new communion? Outside, alien, will we,
puny universes coming into existence, new architectures of bones,
sinews and skin, at once container and contained spur the universe
with our vital thrust to renew itself by expanding its magnitude,
by creating more space? Could it be that space that Metamorphic
practitioners provide to their clients as catalysts?
I was, you were thus, in mother’s womb, unwittingly letting
life flow through the filigree of veins and arteries as we are
now still doing, letting our breath flow through the cosmic grid
perceived by inner senses awakened. We are creating organs as
yet seemingly purposeless whose unknown functions may reveal
the splendour, glory and beauty of the life and intelligence
that were our beginning, that we are now, if we let this life,
this intelligence be, if we let it be now, if we let it be.
©Gaston Saint-Pierre, December 2003
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