I, the observer (as I am quite often in dreams)-
In a stark nothingness, there I stand alone. Afraid.
I watch myself as I unfold.
From behind me, emerges another me. The me
of last year. And from her, another, and another, and another,
marking back my time, each becoming a little less clear,
a little less opaque.
I see the child that was me, then the fetus, the egg
and finally just a wisp of energy, barely visible.
The wisp begins to grow and takes another form,
but is yet, me.
And I watch as once again, the steps backward are taken
throughout time, from adult, to child, to embryo, to that
which is our true nature.
I continue back in time to it’s beginning, taking so many
different forms, from matter, to that which is not.
Until finally my sight is limited, for I can see back no further.
It’s just stark nothingness. I am alone, but unafraid.
For I am, the nothingness, waiting to be born.
In a stark nothingness, there I stand alone. Afraid.
I watch myself as I unfold.
From behind me, emerges another me. The me
of last year. And from her, another, and another, and another,
marking back my time, each becoming a little less clear,
a little less opaque.
I see the child that was me, then the fetus, the egg
and finally just a wisp of energy, barely visible.
The wisp begins to grow and takes another form,
but is yet, me.
And I watch as once again, the steps backward are taken
throughout time, from adult, to child, to embryo, to that
which is our true nature.
I continue back in time to it’s beginning, taking so many
different forms, from matter, to that which is not.
Until finally my sight is limited, for I can see back no further.
It’s just stark nothingness. I am alone, but unafraid.
For I am, the nothingness, waiting to be born.