Skip to comments.Where do we come from? And whatĺs the point?
Posted on 06/20/2013 8:18:33 AM PDT by Starman417
Some longtime readers may remember a bit of my background:
I was born in 1968, Phoenix, Arizona. My ethnicity? Thai. Beyond that, I have no knowledge of my birth heritage and biological parents, as I was given up for adoption.
I've always had a pretty strong memory. I have a number of early childhood memories, both vivid and faded.
Something that I have rarely shared with people, and which is deeply personal for me, but which I am willing to share with you readers and the NSA, is my earliest memory:
The moment of my birth.
For as long as I can remember (literally), this memory fragment has been with me:
Awash in a strange sensation of sound and emotion that I just can't really capture into words, no matter how hard I've tried. What I remember is opening my eyes and staring at my birth mother. From between her legs. I looking at her, and she at me. The image is brief and hazy. There's not much in the way of color; just very dark colors, mixed with light. The memory fragment lasts for the length of a heartbeat. And it's been with me always, although I didn't obsess over it, growing up. It was a part of me and I can't say that, growing up, I gave it a great deal of deep thought. I don't think it was up until the 8th grade when I started to truly grasp where babies actually come from. Even as I questioned how soon it was possible for a newborn to open its eyes and see anything, how could I doubt that this bit of memory was real, given the perspective of staring from between the legs of my birth mom? That I dreamt it up? That my brain mixed up a dream for a reality?
Sometimes I've gone back and tried to relive/replay the fragment in my head; I want to recapture and try to write down and translate the feeling. At the same time, I've been apprehensive of replaying the memory so many times that rather than preserve it in its purity, my current mind begins to reshape and pollute it, by infusing analytical thoughts coming from who I am today. I fear contaminating and warping an actual memory into a false memory.
I am 100% confident that this memory is real. But there's something else that I either remember- or falsely remember. And it has long troubled me. Because I cannot tell which it is. My logical mind tells me I had to have dreamt it as a child or made it up; yet I can't shake the possibility that it might have happened.
I've never been to church (aside from a wedding here and there). My family did not raise me to be religious. My mom was Buddhist and would go through phases of chanting and even took me to some of her NSA meetings (Nichiren Shoshu of America- God how it tested my patience as a kid!); my dad grew up Catholic but is a staunch atheist (yet was never so hostile to religion that my family didn't deny me the secular joys of celebrating Christmas and Easter holidays as American traditions). Aside from my mom's weak attempts, neither of my parents ever pushed religious beliefs upon me.
Which brings me back to the other part of my memory fragment...
I really am not as confident on this next part- which actually precedes the part that I am 100% sure about.
Right before I opened my eyes and felt the slow rush of what I felt, I feel as if I had some sort of consciousness or self-awareness inside the womb. I understand how crazy that sounds, because it sounds crazy to me. And I really can't describe it in more convincing terms. I just can't. I'm almost as skeptical as those of you who are reading this probably are. But to make my story even more unbelievable, I feel as if right before I was born, someone was speaking to me. Telling me something. I do not know what; and I don't even know if this is real or imagined. But it's been with me forever, as well.
I can't help but wonder if I was being told a purpose. I wonder if I'm living what I was meant to do; or if I have strayed...
I wonder if I'm trying to make sense and give meaning to something that never actually happened, other than a dream I had as a small child.
The problem is, when I try to look straight at it and focus upon it- to "enhance" a total recall, it becomes even more elusive to me. When I don't focus so hard...I can almost taste these two experiences again. It's almost like trying to focus on something that can only be seen in your peripheral vision; and so, can't truly be focused upon.
What motivated me to write this, is the release yesterday of a new book by Stephen C. Meyer: Darwin's Doubt: The Explosive Origin of Animal Life and the Case for Intelligent Design
(Excerpt) Read more at floppingaces.net...
so he remembers the moment of his birth, and he doesn’t believe in natural selection. I can’t wait to read mor
Dr. Chandra, will I dream?
Thanks heavens I don’t remember the moment of my birth, I’d be scarred for life, it was bad enough to remember my kids being born (for the record, men shouldn’t be allowed into the delivery room) heh.
Sorry, but remembering the moment of his birth? Nah, don’t think so.
Have no clue what one has to do with the other anyway.
My 2nd daughter has a phenomenal memory. Relatives have learned not to dispute her when she speaks about past events if she was there. That goes right back to very shortly after birth and she has said things on occasion that suggests it goes back to a tad before. Sometimes arguments about how something happened are ended when someone asks D because she was there, in her crib.
that’s a good point as well
He wants to know where he came from?
Thailand. What a silly billy.
I guess “Where are we going” will be the sequel?
At this point, what difference does it make???
That makes two of us
Of course you will SAL. All intelligent creatures dream. Nobody knows why.
“We are born naked, wet, and hungry, and get slapped on our ass...then things get worse . . .”
I would have agreed with you at one time, but my wife insisted and I'm glad she did.
This was back in the mid and late 1980s when it was just starting to get popular.
I didn't care for the blood involved, particularly in three c-sections, but being there to hold three little bundles of joy over 4.5 years before my wife was even out of recovery was incredible. It did a lot more for me than it did for her.
Memories of that feeling got me though some very difficult pre-teen and early teen years with each of my daughters.
My Mom died of cancer when I was 2 1/2 years old. I have only a few memories of her. I can remember her giving me a bath in the kitchen sink and shortly before her death, sitting with her in the back yard for a photo and I remember the Sun being in my eyes.
I also remember Mom visiting me shortly after she died. It was early in the morning and she came into my room, dressed all in white, and stood over my bed and looked at me. I remember that as clear as day! Later that morning, my family told me that I told them that I saw Mom and kept on insisting that I did, even though my family told me that it wasn’t possible. I wonder if God granted her one last visit with me, her youngest child, because she left my Dad, brother, sister and I behind at such a young age (32)?
Dangerfield: "I don't get no respect. When I was born, the doctor took one look at me and slapped my mom. ItellyaIdon'tgetnorespect."