I am standing on a thin, translucid glass plate. When I look down, I can see a reflection looking back. It is not me. It is the child. Its look mirrors mine: it is puzzled to see me. Of course, it is always surprising to realise that the body you have been using is not yours. And it is always surprising to realise that your thoughts are not yours. We recognise each other every time we meet in this floating place, yet we are always surprised.
There is a crack in the glass. It is a tiny little crack, a very pretty little crack, without which it could be impossible to perceive the reflecting material.
Recently the crack has been growing. Very slowly, almost imperceptibly, invisible to the irrelevant eyes. I do not fear it. It does not fear it either. We do not have the resin.
If freedom is, to be born from the sky, untouched by earthly connections to progenitors, without the burden of their past on your innocent shoulders, then why, why can I not resist searching for the place our elders come from?
© asd – 2008
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