Prologue

 Prologue

Questions: I have questions, but what are questions? Where do they come from? Questions require answers. How do I know that? Where do I get the answers from?

Well, I’m here.

Where am I? I do not know.

What am I? I do not know.

Who am I? I do not know.

What can I do? I do not know.

Why am I here? I do not know.

What is my purpose? I do not know.

What do I know? I know what I do not know.

Well, I’m here.

So, let’s get on with it, wherever it is.

Where am I? It’s dark, with no edges, no corners, warm, soft, and comfortable. But rhythmically moving, a constant pulse that slows to a relaxing, dream-like pace, which can rise to an almost frightening, exciting speed, makes me feel different. I get excited, looking for more. More what? I’m a small “thing” inside a more significant “thing”. I feel safe here. I don’t know why. I don’t know “safe”, but I feel it. What’s not “safe”? Where’s that? Is there anywhere else? But for now, I’m safe; that is where I am. One question was answered, but I created so many more.

What am I?

What am I? There’s nothing, or not much of me here. I’m here, I know that this is all I do, think. I know that now I do. I’m getting more extensive and more robust all the while. The more I think, the more I grow. The more words I realise, the more I know. So many words are in my head now. Where have they come from? So, do I exist to think and grow and try to make sense of everything? Will anyone help me? “Anyone,” Is there more of me? Where are they? So, I am a thinking thing and here to work things out. Not happy with that.

Who am I?

Who, what an odd thing. That implies that I’m an individual and, therefore, not alone. Where are the other Me’s? Are they individuals, too, like me?  Is their function the same as mine? Are there different functions? Where do these words keep coming from? How do I know what they mean? I can’t answer this yet. Will someone help?

What can I do?

Now I feel progress. “Progress” is a good word; I like that one. I’m not sure why, but it feels good to me. I know more words than I know. By that, I mean that every time I think, new words are created; they just appear, and I know what they mean.

I can use words to make sense of things, discover or recover stuff. For now, this is my only function. I like it. I’m good at it. So, I have thoughts. I find words that I use to work “stuff” out. The thoughts I create form my existence. “Existence” is another interesting word. Where do they keep coming from?

Why am I here?

Mm, nothing here for that question. No words flowing. No direction at all. Blank. Why don’t I? Why can’t I know why I’m here?

What is my purpose?

Again, data is missing. I have nothing, no data, no thoughts, no feelings. Ah, feelings—what are those, and where did those come from?

What do I know? I know what I do not know.

But now, I know that thinking is constant because it’s my only function. I know more words, and I have feelings. I’m not sure about feelings; some make me feel uncomfortable. I know I am a Human Being; I am aware of that. I feel excited about my newfound awareness.

There is more of “self”, me, always, more than before—both outside of me and inside of me. I also know it is getting snug in my warm, cosy, safe space. I haven’t figured that out yet. Probably, my time is up, and I have to leave. Where will I be then, back to all that is? I am happy to return to where I came from.

I get these feelings, but I don’t like some of them. There’s one growing. My “nest” is agitated, and the pulse is rapid. It’s making mine the same, making me uncomfortable and panicky. It’s all increasing constantly. The nest is moving violently all over. Oh! I wouldn’t say I like that; everything in the nest has been squashed, and I felt pressure. I’m not doing this, I’m getting out, I’m going back to the “all”, all that is.

I’m out; the feelings and the pressure have stopped, but it’s still dark, with no corners, edges, words, or feelings. No warmth, no cold. No floor, no ceiling, no walls. Just vast black, never-ending space.

Then, a familiar, feminine voice, soft yet firm, said, “What are you doing?” I replied, “I’m not going there.” I’m not doing that, but it is what was agreed upon. Get back, and I will be there in a while, said the soft but firm voice. So back I go.

I became aware that I, the outer me, have bits that move around independently from “me.” I think they could be helpful. I seem to know that my time in the nest is ending. I can sense from the nest that things are changing.

Yes, something is happening; I have no room; I’m the wrong way up. I’m being squeezed. I feel panic in the nest; it’s making me panic; I think I’m frightened; everything is scared, angry, and cross. Something is pushing me, I wouldn’t say I like it, I can’t stop it, I have no control, I don’t feel …….. love. I know I’m supposed to, but I don’t. I’m moving; I think the nest is ejecting me; it doesn’t want me anymore, and I don’t feel love.

Oh no, I don’t like this. Too much, it’s too bright, I have eyes. I saw the shapes, things, and colours. I thought it would be wonderful, but I am frightened. I have ears, and there are all kinds of “noises” everywhere. Everything is so noisy, and I’m scared. I have a mouth; I am making some of the noise. Why am I making that noise? I’m confused. I have a nose, can feel a flow, and am curious. I feel …. Cold, unlike in the nest; I have a dry cover around me; I’m in a box, so alone; why didn’t the nest want me? I don’t feel safe, secure, or wanted.

I am a Human Being. I am aware, but

Where did I come from?

Why am I here?

Where am I?

Who am I?

What can I do?

What is my purpose?

What do I know? I don’t feel LOVED!