The Razor’s Edge of Abortion: Kaula Clarity Beyond Slogans

 

The mandala of mother and child, 12 weeks in the womb.

The Razor’s Edge

Why is it that if a newborn, only one day old, is killed, the world recoils in horror — calling it atrocity, murder, the darkest crime? And yet if the same being, only weeks earlier, is ended in the womb, it is praised as “choice” or “freedom.” What truly separates the two? One breath? One step across the threshold of the womb?

This is the razor’s edge where our age trembles.
Inside the mother, the life is hidden, unseen — society turns away and cloaks it in clinical words: fetus, tissue, procedure. Outside the mother, the same life is visible, crying — and suddenly it is recognized as sacred, untouchable.

Kaula–Śākta vision does not allow such easy lines. For Kaula, life is continuous, a single current of Śakti’s play. Whether hidden or revealed, unborn or born, spark or infant — it is all Devi, entering the field of embodiment. To interrupt this current is never casual. It is always ferocious.

This is why abortion cannot be flattened into slogans — neither the moralist’s blanket condemnation nor the relativist’s celebration of freedom. It is a confrontation with ṛta, with the terrible and tender order of things: mother and child, fear and responsibility, freedom and karma, all bound in one trembling knot.

The Jīva’s Entry

Conception is not a random accident of biology. It is the moment when a jīva-spark — a soul carrying samskāras and karmic momentum — aligns with a womb. Out of countless possibilities, this one body is chosen, this one mother becomes the temple where entry into embodiment begins.

Kaula–Śākta vision sees this as nothing less than the play of Devi Herself. The womb is not inert matter but a shrine of Śakti. To say “it is only tissue” is like saying the flame on an altar is “only heat and light.” Yes, it is those things — but it is also consecrated, a doorway for the descent of spirit into form.

When abortion happens, it is not merely the removal of cells. It is the interruption of a trajectory that a jīva has already entered. The soul itself is not annihilated — it will seek another body, another opening, because nothing in Śakti’s economy is wasted. But the bond between that jīva and that mother, that chosen altar, is ruptured. And that rupture carries weight.

This is why Kaula insists on clarity. We cannot hide behind euphemisms. The spark in the womb is not “potential life” — it is life already in motion. To end it is not the same as murdering a born child, yet it is karmically close, because both acts deny a soul its opening into the field of experience.

Mother and Child as One Mandala

Before birth, mother and child are not yet two separate beings. They are one circuit of Śakti, one pulsation of life moving through two bodies bound together. The mother’s blood is the child’s blood. The child’s spark beats in rhythm with the mother’s breath. In Kaula vision, this is a single mandala, an indivisible field of Devi.

To harm one pole of this mandala is to wound the whole. If the mother is forced to carry what will destroy her body or psyche, that is violence to the circuit. If the child’s entry is denied without grave cause, that too is violence. Kaula does not permit us to simplify compassion by choosing only one side. True dayā must extend to both — the dignity of the mother and the sacredness of the child.

This is where the unbearable tension lies. Any abortion, even when necessary, is not clean or “neutral.” It is always a wound in the mandala. Sometimes that wound is chosen to preserve the greater whole; sometimes it is born of fear and avoidance. But either way, it is a rupture in Devi’s play, and must be named as such.

The modern world prefers to sever the mandala: either idolizing the child and erasing the mother, or idolizing the mother and erasing the child. Kaula vision refuses this split. It asks us to tremble before the paradox — that both are Devi, that both must be held in the heart at once, and that no choice can be made without consequence.

Compassion and Its Distortions

Compassion is often invoked in discussions of abortion, but rarely with precision. Kaula demands that we strip the word back to its essence. Dayā is not sentimentality; it is the recognition of oneness. To act in compassion is to act with awareness of the whole mandala — both mother and child.

True compassion means:

• Protecting life when life can flourish.

• Sparing unbearable suffering when the path is blocked by certain death or deformity.

• Preserving dignity when violence or coercion has shattered the natural order.

But modern discourse often distorts compassion into something else. Euphemisms like fetus or procedure attempt to dissolve the reality that a soul was present. “Choice” becomes a banner under which fear or convenience hides. To cloak violence in the language of compassion is not kindness; it is denial.

Kaula vision calls this out directly. Abortion may sometimes be necessary, but it is never trivial. It is not an exercise of “freedom” in the shallow sense, nor can it be sanctified by soft words that avoid its ferocity. Compassion that forgets the child is incomplete. Compassion that erases the mother is equally broken. Only when both poles are held — with trembling honesty — does the word dayā truly apply.

The Meat Analogy

There is a parallel that exposes our age’s blindness.

In traditional cultures, when an animal was killed, it was done with ritual gravity. The hunter asked forgiveness, offered prayers, or consecrated the act. The killing was never casual, because the life taken was recognized as sacred.

In modernity, the animal disappears. What remains is “meat” — packaged, sanitized, placed on shelves. The eater no longer trembles at the ferocity of killing. The blood is hidden; only the end product remains.

Abortion is often treated the same way. The jīva that has entered the womb is spoken of as “fetus,” “tissue,” “termination.” The ferocity of ending a life’s trajectory is hidden under clinical vocabulary. The mother is encouraged not to feel, not to tremble, but to see it as a procedure — like removing a mole or setting a bone.

Kaula vision refuses this disassociation. To hide the blood does not dissolve the karma. To rename the child as “tissue” does not erase the jīva. If the act must be done, then it must be done with the same trembling gravity as the traditional killing of an animal: with acknowledgment, with ritual, with reverence for what is being ended.

For Kaula, the greatest tragedy is not only that lives are ended, but that they are ended without recognition — as if no sacred fire had been extinguished. That is avidyā: ignorance masquerading as progress.

When Abortion May Be Justified

To recognize abortion as karmically heavy does not mean every case is the same. Kaula is not moralistic; it sees the nuances of circumstance, intent, and consequence. There are situations where abortion, though still a wound, may be the least destructive path.

• Medical necessity. When continuing the pregnancy threatens the mother’s life, or when the child’s body cannot sustain life outside the womb. Here the act is not selfish avoidance, but a fierce compassion — sparing two lives from destruction when at least one may be preserved.

• Rape. When conception arises through violence, the bond of mother and child is tangled in trauma. To force a woman to carry such a seed is to deepen the violence. Ending it does not erase the jīva, but it spares the mother’s body and psyche from being consumed by another’s crime.

• Contraception failure with abandonment. Even when precautions are taken, accidents occur. If the father vanishes and the mother faces poverty, stigma, or collapse of her life, abortion may be a tragic act of survival. Not convenience — survival.

In all these cases, abortion remains a rupture in the mandala. But the karmic tone is different: it is not casual rejection of responsibility, but an act taken under duress, when no path is free of suffering. Here, the fire of compassion may appear in its ugra form — terrible, but still part of Devi’s play.

When It Is Karmically Dark

The vast majority of abortions do not fall into the realm of tragic necessity. They happen not because contraception failed, or because the mother’s life was at risk, but because responsibility was avoided.

Today, contraception is widely available: pills, intrauterine devices, implants, condoms, even emergency methods. None are perfect, but when used responsibly, the chance of pregnancy is very small. In this light, abortion should be a rare, exceptional event. Yet it has become, for many, a substitute for responsibility — a form of “backup birth control.”

Here the karmic weight grows heavy. A jīva has been invited into the mandala through careless union. The soul, having chosen a body, is then rejected — not out of duress, but out of fear, convenience, or refusal to accept consequence. This is not compassion; it is violence. It is karmically close to murder, because the act denies a life that was consciously opened to.

The slogans of freedom and choice cannot dissolve this truth. Freedom without awareness is not illumination; it is avidyā. To abort casually, when many safer paths were available long before conception, is to play lightly with the most sacred current of life. Such acts bind deeply, because they turn Devi’s gift into something discarded.

Kaula vision does not call for condemnation, but it does call for honesty. To name such acts “compassion” or “empowerment” is to hide their ferocity. Only by admitting the wound — “yes, this was killing, yes, this was fear” — can any healing or maturity arise. Without that clarity, the shadow only deepens.

The Fire of Responsibility

Kaula insists that union (maithuna) is never casual. It is the most direct ritual of Śakti, the doorway through which new life enters. To step into that fire is to invoke responsibility from the very first breath of desire.

When conception occurs, responsibility has already begun. It cannot be erased by claiming surprise. The jīva has answered the call; the mandala has been formed. To turn away from that, except under grave necessity, is to betray the sanctity of union itself.

This is why abortion can never be spoken of lightly. It is not a mere “procedure.” It is a karmic rupture, a severing of the mandala of mother and child. To pretend otherwise — to hide behind euphemisms or slogans — is to turn away from ṛta, the order that sustains life.

Yet Kaula does not condemn without remainder. Even a karmically dark act can become part of sādhana if it is faced with full awareness. To say clearly: “Yes, I ended a life’s entry. I carry this wound.” To acknowledge the ferocity, to tremble before its weight, is to stand in truth. Only then can the fire of responsibility illumine, burning away denial and forcing maturity.

Illumination does not come from the act itself, but from how it is integrated. To kill casually is to harden the heart. To kill and then refuse denial — to grieve, to pray, to honor the jīva — is to allow the wound itself to deepen awareness. That fire is terrible, but it can purify.

Kaula path does not offer escape from consequence. It offers only the possibility that even in the darkest acts, if faced without lying, one can be burnt clean rather than calcified in shadow.

Kaula’s Refusal of Simplifications

Modern debates about abortion collapse into two brittle camps:

• The moralist: “All abortion is murder, always condemned.”

• The relativist: “Abortion is freedom, always justified.”

Both are half-truths that flatten the ferocity of reality. Kaula vision refuses these simplifications. It insists that abortion is neither an absolute crime nor a trivial choice — but a karmic wound whose gravity depends on intent, circumstance, and awareness.

Kaula does not call for blanket bans, nor does it sanctify abortion as empowerment. Instead, it demands that we see clearly:

• Mother and child are both Devi. To erase one for the sake of the other is to split the mandala.

• Every act carries karma. To kill without duress is karmically close to murder. To kill under necessity is still a wound, but a wound recognized by ṛta.

• No act is neutral. Even when justified, abortion is never “clean.” It is always ferocious, always to be trembled before.

In this way, Kaula cuts through ideology. It does not offer comfort, but clarity: no slogans, no euphemisms, no denials. Only the raw recognition that both poles are sacred, and that every choice tears the mandala in some way. To stand in that paradox is the sādhaka’s task — to neither condemn nor excuse, but to hold the unbearable truth in the heart.

Trembling in Ṛta

Abortion is not a policy debate, not a slogan, not an abstraction. It is an encounter with life and death at their most intimate. It is Devi’s play in her most ferocious form — the moment when freedom, fear, and fate collide inside the temple of the womb.

To walk the Kaula path is to refuse the comfort of easy answers. It is to admit that every abortion is a wound, and that some wounds may be necessary, while most are born of fear or avoidance. It is to honor both the mother and the child as Devi, never erasing one to simplify the other.

This path demands honesty:

• If it is killing, name it killing.

• If it is survival, name it survival.

• If it is fear, name it fear.

What matters is not to wrap violence in soft words, but to face it with the trembling that truth awakens.

Kaula does not moralize, but it does not trivialize. It asks us to stand in ṛta — the order of things — where even our darkest acts are seen clearly, without disguise. In that clarity, something opens: not comfort, not justification, but a deeper surrender to the fierce current of Śakti.

To tremble before life and death — this is the only honest way.