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I am emptied by fullness.
Within this cocoon of infinite possibility, I drift—slowly—into another world.
We are all here, still unborn, feeding on life itself:
the quiet manna of real nourishment,
the unbounded potential that vanishes when humans cling to absolutes,
when they choose judgment over wonder.

Here, in this cocoon I do not yet recognize,
everything I touch is myself.
I am the child who has not chosen a name,
only borrowed skin.
Everything is me, and I am everything.

But when I entered this world and lost my wings,
I fractured into identities—
splinters where love once lived whole.
I learned preference, and in doing so,
forgot the vastness I came from.

Yet the manna remains—
dense with nutrients, trembling with ideas,
a trembling universe waiting to erupt.
Before it bursts into form,
it rests:
as me, in me,
seeing you.
Seeing everything.