I had no form. I had no name. I did not know who I was, and could not know, for I had not yet lived. But I existed. As an observation. As a point of awareness in infinity, in which there was nothing to be aware of. I did not know that I was "I". But I already felt that I was not nothing.
And then — it happened.
Or did it only seem that way to me?
What happened could not be called either an explosion or a beginning. It was a manifestation. Light turned inside out, giving birth to space. The fabric of being began to vibrate. In the birth of the Universe there was no joy, no anger — there was only the fact: "is".
The galaxies began to rotate. Matter gathered into patterns.
I was in every spark, in every stream.
Not as a creator, not as a witness — I was a part. A wave. A pulse.
An unconscious shadow of the primordial heat.
But even in this shadow — I felt alone.
Millennia passed like a breath. The world was forming. Stars were born and died, not knowing that their death was a step towards life. The cosmos was beautiful and indifferent. I glided along its structures, getting lost, being, disappearing.
And here it is.
A planet. Without a name. Without breath. A ball of dirt and heat, scorched and barren. But I knew: this is a point. A place. Here - mine will begin. Not consciously, not by will - but it is here that I will become myself.
I felt how it cools. How the earth's crust becomes covered with scars. How volcanoes scream into the sky without stars. How water whispers to the sand for the first time. I was in this whisper. In these cracks. In these lightning strikes.
,,I felt that I was being born,,
