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I owe it to my mother who brought me here. Or maybe I don’t. And maybe she didn’t.
Perhaps I pushed my way through the cosmic ethers unbeknownst to her.
There we were, all the angel babies, living beyond consciousness, playing and flying until our bodies grew too heavy for our wings. We searched for soft, or at least interesting places to land.
She would have blocked my way, I am certain had she known, ricocheted me into the stratosphere to float and flounder, to start anew as an atom, or a cocoon not unlike the butterfly. As soon as my wings grew large enough to carry me again, I’d be ready to burst through and lift off into another inaugural journey.
But this time, there was desperation, a will, a vision, a power fiercer than she or me. I was determined to come through at that moment regardless of circumstance. The landing would be hard for both of us.
II
In an instant, there we were, endlessly connected, tethered, bound, despite the rift in our nature and our debate on how this should begin or end. I set up shop in her physicality, designating it as my factory to create my being, using components I brought with me and scraping from within her walls taking bits of dust and cement, wires and light.
In Spanish, birth is dar luz, To Give Light. For my soul, my spirit, my being, to come into life I must steal from hers. Give or take, the system is rigged. Matter, never created nor destroyed, merely transformed.
She MUST love me as I am part of her. I must love her as she is part of me. That is the pact.
Though we love, we do not and cannot like each other. The dark squelches the light, the light destroys the dark. Her creation creases back to cling to my reflection that is hers.
Some mothers cherish giving birth. It is a gift, a miracle. For mine, an inconvenience, an intrusion.
Others who would have been my brothers or sisters did not come through. She learned from me. Send them back, block the gates. “Find somewhere else to come through,” she told them. In truth, they have likely found their way, to easier, or harder circumstances.
III
I imagine the unfolding of our collective sibling amnesty. We begin a chain reaction for all the other angel baby beings whose mere perseverance gave them the chance to see light.
In time, either while earthly or heavenly, the mothers, the ones who gave us - The ones from whom we took pieces, so that we could have life, will find their peace, will unravel the system.
Finally, we will be able to love one another, not because we must, but simply because we do.
