Sage, a mother of three, remembers her own conception and birth even more clearly than those of her children.
My memories stretch back to when I isolated myself in a soul form, long before I prepared to be born this time.
A quiet permeated that spirit realm which I have craved ever since – a quiet that totally restores, the deepest rest you can imagine. Everything in balance.
I floated in a vacuum, feeling safe, protected. Once in human form, I missed that love, joy, peace, and comfort. Since then, I have returned to that Realm of Quiet four times. There is nothing schooled about having the experience. It is beyond my ability to consciously go there. It is not available unless my consciousness goes far out of body. And when I do, I can’t experience it for very long.
That state of consciousness is so beyond. There is no place remotely like it, no reprieve like that. It can be frightening to my ego because there are no boundaries.
All of a sudden, I am totally spread out everywhere, like turning into a million stars. Part of me craves it, but there is something unsettling about it. It is hard to find my focal point, “Oh, no. I am going to lose my attachment here!” My mind tries to make sense of it, but it is part of the great mystery which I cannot begin to understand. . . .
Each of my family members plays a special role in my life. Before conception, the family patterns were clear to me – the positive and negative. I saw the blessings and the burdens. I felt close to and loved several of the souls in this family unit and I wanted the experiences. I had strong connections to my oldest sister, Dad, and my grandmother on my mother’s side. My grandmother and my oldest sister were seers so my family was familiar with higher sensory perception. I felt safe coming into a family who understood my gifts. I knew my sister would support me regardless of whether mother tried to shut us down, which is exactly what she tried to do.
Naturally my parents thought they lived in a private sexual world, yet I was seeking birth and in the neighborhood, especially during coitus.
I remember slipping in during noon hour. Mother was cooking lunch. Dad said, “Drop everything and let’s go into the bathroom.” Mother said, “I have to put on my diaphragm.” He replied, “No, it won’t hurt this time.” I thought, “Now is my chance! Here is my door.” (Sage’s memory parallels Buddhist scriptures: the intermediate being sees the prospective parents engaged in sexual intercourse, unconsciously jumps into the human realm, and finds itself nestled in a womb.)
So it is no accident that I was born with eating disorders, a food obsession. My parents conceived me at noon; lunch was interrupted. And my daddy is a compulsive, obsessive person who squeezes life for all it is. I waited until adulthood before discussing conception memories. Mother freaked out. She screamed, “How could you know that? We did have sex at lunch and I felt like I became pregnant. That was the only time we did not use a diaphragm.”
Due to remote-sensing I was also aware that Dad and mother’s sister had a sexual affair during mother’s pregnancy with me. Mother knew, but she did not want to consciously know. She felt terrified. At the same time, I watched Dad sitting on the porch and crying, “What are we doing having a fourth child? I am not even with the family that I have now!”
When I was 20, I told Mom, “I was aware of Dad’s affair during my wombtime.”
She said, “Yes, you are right. Their affair started when you were in the womb, but I did not find about it until five years later.” During childhood, I felt angry towards mother for being unconscious about it, but she contended with it as soon as she could.
I also recall what happened at my birth. I entered the birth canal. If my mother had given three good pushes, I would have been out. Instead, she took the drug Twilight and had an out-of-body experience. She went completely dead on me. She did not have the soul-urge to push. I was furious. I thought, “If things get rough in this life, don’t lean on mother. She’ll leave.”
When I finally emerged, it felt good to be born, even though I was wet and the cold air hitting my face felt uncomfortable. The doctor didn’t put me in my mother’s warm arms. She was unconscious from the drug for two days.
I missed her heartbeat. Twilight gave my mother a wonderful experience of floating out of the body, one that went beyond her ability to put into words.
But I was angry. Without a mother to bond with, I experienced an emotional vacuum and later I found life jarring and unnourishing.