Date:          February 2004
Title:         Pure Rebirth
Author:        Jeroen Verbeek, Copyright (C) 2004. All rights reserved.

Summary:       Reliving the fully developed first stage of my biological 
               birth, my collective unconscious is flooded with scenes of 
               murderous aggression and bloody violence.

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Pure Rebirth


My skin no longer protected me from the outside world. I was surrounded by 
an increasing amount of clear fluid. I could scarcely breath. I 
instinctively realized that I needed direct contact with the womb around me 
to get oxygen into my bloodstream. At that moment I became aware of the 
sound of her breath, and the pounding of her heart, which seemed quite 
loud. Then a strong contraction hit me, followed by another wave of vaginal 
muscle activity. Suddenly I felt caught in a monstrous claustrophobic 
nightmare. This must be the worst experience a human being can have. 

The earth had been scorched. Men, women, and children lay in heaps, their 
arms or legs missing, beheaded or disemboweled. There were well over a 
hundred of them. The disgusting smell of this horrifying dead world made me 
sick.
     As I passed a pile of corpses I saw a teenage girl. She held the 
corpse of a child in her arms whose eyes were staring at her. She rocked 
the kid's lifeless body back and forth in her arms, keening and weening, 
and crying the same words over and over: "My brother, my brother."
     I wanted to close my eyes, but some kind of evil thought kept them 
open. Against my will, I was forced to witness these acts of terror.

Another contraction. With the cervix not yet open, I relived the fully 
developed first stage of the biological birth. I knew this purification 
process from the spiritual literature as the Dark Night of the Soul. I 
suffered from agonizing emotional and physical pain, and had a sense of 
utter helplessness and hopelessness.
     I started facing the clashing energies and hydraulic pressures 
involved in the delivery. Her comparatively massive, powerful legs began to 
spread apart. She gasped and cried in pain as the neck of her womb opened, 
and my head slowly descended.

I stood amid a sea of bodies and, without saying a word, held aloft the 
body of a headless child. The blood of people murdered ran literally in 
streams through the street. What happened here was just too terrible to 
bear. It was a massacre.
     Armed guerillas, dressed in military-style uniforms, had marched into 
this tiny village, painting a ghastly picture of butchery and rape. Most 
male villagers were shot, but also a lot of them were beaten with clubs and 
then stabbed with knives or sliced up with machetes. Others were beheaded, 
or strangled with metal wires, while most of the women were being raped 
before they had their throats cut. Something evil made me watch the 
slaughter. This must be hell.

Back in the delivery room, her feet were in stirrups. There were several 
interns and two nurses present. The gynecologist told her to push hard. Her 
legs were parted, the cervix fully open now, and my propulsion through the 
birth canal ran at full speed. The fit was so tight; she was warm and soft, 
except where her muscles threatened to constrict my neck.
     "No! Please!" I heard her scream.
     Meanwhile her diaphragm squeezed me in rhythmic motions. I felt warm, 
soft feminine flesh around my head, and then all of a sudden my body broke 
through into a cold world where daylight blinded my eyes.
     "It's a boy," one of the nurses said, and she immediately severed the 
umbilical cord. 
     My mother was exhausted, and soaking wet all over. Her birth canal 
slowly changed back to an ordinary vagina. It would certainly take a couple 
of weeks to fully recover from this excruciatingly painful delivery.
     Later, she softly kissed the top of my head. Overjoyed to be holding 
her reborn son, the whole situation almost seemed surreal. I had no memory 
of my previous birth, but with my wide eyes surveying everything going on 
in the room, it was obvious that I was born again.



The End




----- This work is copyright (C) Jeroen Verbeek, 2004, all rights reserved -----