Curiosity

We start embattled, our identity formed in response to the rapid assault of birth. It starts the journey. We are separate from all others. Such a shock from the womb where in the dark we were the world. And now, alone and distinct with our suits of skin, we fight to breathe, to damn the air with our screams.

One thing. The terror is assuaged by only one thing. There is softness. Soft flesh that soothes and feeds. Kindness. Gentleness. And from that can spring a curiosity of the world.

What is this place to which I have come into being? This ground from which the body forms, and thus gives rise to the terror and the kindess. How then to enjoy division and separation, rather than flee from it.