The Form of the Soul

From the moment egg and sperm unite, the preparation for a new life begins in the dark chamber of a woman's womb.

A soul starts taking form. It seeks space to establish its place. At that time it has no hands, no feet, no head—it lacks the strength to fight. To uproot that empty, powerless, vulnerable life from within the womb—from its final refuge—to tear it apart and kill it piece by piece—what cruelty could be greater than this!

What strange enchantment surrounds motherhood. The maternal womb is the most selfless place on earth. I have always heard that man is the giver, because he gives his seed. And woman gives space. For this little bit of space, souls wander in various forms. Here, man is not really the giver—he is a medium, just as woman is also a medium.

I am nothing more than a medium. I know that no one belongs to anyone in this world. I belong to no one, and truly no one belongs to me either. My child is not entirely my own—it too is part of someone else. So nothing in this world is truly one's own. All that seems our own actually belongs to others.

Yet no one is truly other either. Chemically we are made of the same elements, spiritually we are created from the same supreme soul. All creation is actually part of that supreme soul. We can neither create anything nor destroy. We can only act and experience the fruits of our actions. The world is full of action.

Even desireless action has consequences. How we experience them—that is what matters.