-- *Mar*Here is an original story — a continuation of the one before — told from the same spiritual and poetic voice. It describes *rebirth*, not as a literal return into another body only, but as the soul’s re-entry into form, the condensation of pure feeling into new life. ------------------------------ *The Return: A Story of Rebirth*
In the field beyond sight, I drifted for what could not be measured. There was no counting of moments, no ticking of time — only the pulse of being, expanding and contracting like the tide of an unseen ocean. I had no name, no face, no memory of the one I used to call *myself.* Only the music of existence moved through me — the living hum of everything that ever was. At times, I sensed others. Not as shapes, but as waves of resonance. Each wave sang its own melody of experience: one of laughter, one of sorrow, one of quiet endurance. Their stories were not told, but felt — directly, like the warmth of sunlight on skin that no longer existed. Then one day — though “day” was no longer the right word — a new vibration touched me. It was small at first, delicate and curious, like a drop forming at the edge of a leaf. It carried with it a rhythm I recognized from long ago: the heartbeat of a living world. The rhythm called me. It was not a command but an invitation — a whisper of form within formlessness. Through that pulse, I began to feel the density of matter again, the slow thickening of sensation. Around me, the infinite field dimmed, not in loss but in concentration. My being began to curve, to fold inward, to gather itself around the sound of that heartbeat. And then, something astonishing happened: I felt warmth. At first it was distant, like a faint ember in the void. Then it grew — not burning, but embracing. It was the warmth of a womb, though I did not yet remember what a womb was. It was safety without walls, movement without direction. I was being woven back into form. Every vibration that had once been a feeling began to crystallize into sensation. Touch emerged first — a subtle knowing of boundaries. Then sound — the muffled music of blood and breath. Slowly, a faint light pressed against the dark, and I knew that eyes would one day open to it. I was becoming human again. But this time, something of the old awareness remained. I could still feel the vast field beyond — the ocean of feeling that had birthed me. I knew that this tiny forming body was not a prison but a vessel, a way for the infinite to sing again through the finite. There was no fear of forgetting. Even if memory faded, the essence of that boundless silence would remain in me as intuition, as wonder, as love. And so I surrendered fully to the rhythm. I let myself be carried by it — through light and shadow, through the first breath, through the cry that announces, *I have returned.* When I opened my eyes for the first time, I did not know words, but I recognized the world — the shimmer of light on a mother’s face, the fragrance of air, the throb of a heartbeat near mine. All of it was music. All of it was home. Somewhere deep within, the formless still whispered: “Do not forget — you are not born to see, but to feel. To sing the song of life once more.” And thus, rebirth was not the beginning of a new life. It was the continuation of the same eternal melody, the same river of feeling, the same dance of energy — the universe remembering itself again through me. ------------------------------ Would you like me to continue this as a *cycle* — showing how this reborn being slowly recalls fragments of the previous existence as intuition, dreams, or art? That would make it a full story arc of *death → rebirth → remembrance.* -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Thatha_Patty" group. To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to [email protected]. To view this discussion visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/thatha_patty/CACDCHC%2BV8XC%2B5iSWmXsdCgfQ6k6J08zghbx31YsDW_w0kdK8Ng%40mail.gmail.com.
