Have you ever heard the story of the unborn twins in the womb?
One asks the other, “Do you believe in life after birth?”
The second twin answers, “Of course not. This is all we’ve ever known. Why would there be anything else?”
And yet, beyond the rhythm of their mother’s heartbeat, another world awaits—a world they cannot yet comprehend, yet they will one day enter as their truest reality.
This short parable hits exactly what we were thought about reality and life.
Like those twins, we too often doubt what lies beyond the thresholds of our current understanding. We cling to what we can see and touch, forgetting that the unseen is often more real than the tangible. The soul remembers what the mind resists: there is more. There is always more.
We Are All Midway Between Wombs
This morning, as I watched that beautiful video again, something stirred. A voice whispered, not from the outside, but from within:
“You are not here to debate the next world. You are here to remember it.”
So many of us, whether consciously or not, remember the contractions of a spiritual birth. The crumbling of the structures we relied on. Relationships shift. Identities we’ve worn for decades no longer fit. We feel… squeezed.
But what if it’s not collapse?
What if it’s labor?
What if it’s the crowning of your soul?
From Darkness to Light
The womb is a quiet, warm world. Safe, enclosed. Familiar. But it’s also a world with limits. A world where growth eventually becomes painful because something larger wants to emerge.
This is the tension many of us feel. We outgrow our environments—energetically, emotionally, even professionally. Yet fear makes us hold on: “This is all I’ve ever known. Why would there be anything else?”
And so we resist.
But the contractions, calling for change keep coming.
And this is grace.
Life After This Life
I’ve observed souls through their “womb moments.” Times when the known falls apart, and the new has yet to take form. It can feel like dying. And in a way, it is. But not an ending.
It’s the death of illusion.
The death of limitation.
The death of the idea that you are only what you do, what you own, or how others see you.
The twins in the story remind us: what feels like the end is a beginning. Life after death. Life after ego. Life after trauma. Life after silence.
The Invitation
So today, I invite you to sit with the questions the twins once asked:
- What have I outgrown?
- What unseen reality is calling me forth?
- Where am I clinging to the known out of fear?
- What part of me is asking to be born?
You don’t need to have the answers yet. You only need to stay open, even if that means keeping the door ajar. You only need to trust the rhythm of something greater than you—just as the twins were carried, nourished, and eventually born into a world they never imagined existed.
Let yourself be born again—not just once, but every day, every breath, every awakening.
Because beyond this womb of form and fear, a truer life awaits.
And your soul remembers.
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