Birth is the beginning of life, the event that dates one’s history, but of which, in truth, one had no direct conscious experience or recollection. Once it has occurred, the person is always in an analogous sense of being before death, so one of the difficulties that arises when we speak of our own origin is that we force ourselves to leave the plane of lived experience and become a late spectator of one’s own beginnings.
In philosophy, it is pointed out that when we are born, the claim to be born “by ourselves” leads to the resigned recognition that it was not we who chose to bring ourselves into existence. We come into a world already begun and because of those who already exist before us. Thus, to be born expresses dependence on other lives. My ancestors, and parents, willed this existence for me.
When meditating on birth, one discovers the tremendousness of one’s own situation in this umbilical linking of the living among themselves. There is an unexpected and insurmountable primary filiation by which the human way of being and of beginning, even of thinking and philosophizing, is defined as being able to begin in what has already begun, given by those who have been born before us and we have always known that, under that non-negotiable condition, all the pages of any biography must be written.
Thus, the donor ancestors are also the capital of an inheritance that represents the difficulty to think objectively the birth, since they have made to enter the community of belonging, they have left inscribed and linked to a long chain of past and future generations.
But sometimes they do it to such an extent that the natal situation seems to make of a being only a partial and finite product of an immense and very ancient legacy, ignoring to what extent the individual existence, apparently unique and unrepeatable, is encumbered by the ancestors with an inheritance of which, on the other hand, one is not sure that it is not a mortgage.
If we are already in the middle of a story, we can equally begin to tell our own story. But beyond the degree of tragedy and comedy in which we come into the world, it is clear, that if there is one thing we are not, it is blank sheets of paper. From the first breath, each life is marked by the traces of an incalculable alchemy.
I invite you to read the post with the concept presented by Matías
Finally, I encourage everyone to reflect on the concept of the day. No one else but us can re-signify our own being