contractions have begun. the pain is temporary. i realize – the only way i’m getting out of this womb alive is if i shed my skin. become liquid, organs pressing into a stream. ideas about self are left with no chance to expand.
imagining myself without form, panic grips at my throat. if i have no lungs, no mouth, no throat – how will i breathe? but it isn’t air that keeps me here. if i disperse, bits of You will feed the pieces of me floating in the breeze.
panic is waking me up. i sense that something is dying. a struggle is taking place in this body of mine. there is no enclosure that actually exists. no limits that could possibly be imposed. just fear-you, fear-you, fear…
Oh, Waheguru! i want to throw all the pieces of me to the wind. to become liquid, and cast this skin of mine aside.
hear the sound of the guru 