Mother 1

Two twins spoke softly in the womb’s dim hush, Where darkness and time passed without rush. They floated in warmth where the world felt whole, In water that cradled each bone and each soul. Twin 1: Do you believe there’s life after birth, beyond this place? Twin 2: Yes, I think there’s more than this warm enclosed space. Twin 1: Why crave a “beyond” when we are safe and fed? Twin 2: Because this is just a vestibule for what lies ahead. Twin 1: Warm darkness: the only world we have known, Twin 1: The walls never answer; they hold us alone. Twin 1: It’s been forty weeks; nothing has changed, Twin 1: The rules stay the same set and arranged. Twin 2: But we have changed, quietly, under the same sealed sky, Twin 2: Growth doesn’t announce itself; it happens while we lie. Twin 2: We started as one cell, there was a time we were small, Twin 2: And what seemed “final” then wasn’t final at all. Twin 1: The umbilical cord is life, fixed, rooted, and tight, Twin 1: Cut it, and instantly we vanish from sight. Twin 1: Food and oxygen come from a source we can’t name, Twin 1: But it always arrives, so why expect a new game? Twin 2: This world is a temporary shelter, just for a season, Twin 2: A gift that sustains us, not the eternal reason. Twin 2: What feeds us unseen can feed us in other ways, Twin 2: Not less life, more life, when the old path decays. Twin 2: Then why build digits, ten small fingers that curl, Twin 2: Why form joints and wrists with such careful swirl? Twin 2: Why strengthen our legs, set knees in their place, Twin 2: If there’s never a floor, we will meet face to face? Twin 1: Walking, be serious, we’ve never once stood, Twin 1: There is no ground here, no “up” in this flood. Twin 1: Our hands wave in water and grasp at nothing, Twin 1: No tools, no doors, no world worth touching. Twin 1: Outside would be hostile, cold, loud, and bright, Twin 1: A world like that would kill us at first sight. Twin 1: So don’t call it “life”, call it ending, call it gone, Twin 1: Once you are born, you cease to exist; you’re undone. Twin 2: Or birth is the start, not the end you fear, Twin 2: A doorway forward when “our time” has run out of here. Twin 2: The first breath may sting, but it won’t be our death, Twin 2: It will be the beginning of breath after breath. Twin 1: If there’s life after birth, answer me plain: Twin 1: Why has no one returned to speak of it again? Twin 2: You don’t climb back into the womb once you’re born, Twin 2: The doorway is forward; return is forlorn. Twin 2: I also believe we have a mother, real, but unseen, Twin 2: Not myth: the hidden origin of all we are and have been. Twin 1: If she exists, where is she? Where does she stay? Twin 1: Show me the evidence, don’t ask me to just pray. Twin 2: She is all around us; we are within her care, Twin 2: Without her, neither of us here could survive or bear. Twin 2: This world would not exist, this warmth, the steady beat, Twin 2: Her watchfulness surrounds us, even when we doubt and retreat. Twin 1: She's invisible; I don’t see her, so she can’t exist, Twin 1: We are random cells; your thought is a comforting mist. Twin 2: You may not see the source that sustains you each day, Twin 2: Yet you live by it fully, and you don’t question the way. Twin 2: Sometimes, when I’m quiet, I can sense her near, Twin 2: Not with my eyes, but with a certainty clear and sincere. Twin 2: After birth, we’ll finally see her, no longer apart, Twin 2: And rest against her living warmth, held to her heart. It’s said: from dust you came, to dust you'll return, But hear the deeper wisdom, and truth discern: From the divine spark you came, a holy ember bright, And to the divine warmth you will return, to God's eternal light.