The egg is the world. Whom would be born must first destroy a world.
Waking up from the deep slumber. Slowly coming out of the fixed darkness into a gradually tainted white scenario. Unity and wholeness. Truth. The fragments from my old self linger like layers of a fading chrysalis, starving from the instinctual and compulsive impulse that births them. They ask for light as plants do in the day but are received with mindfulness and temperance. These shards from my empty shell wither little by little and what was born anew fills the space of this blank void, filling it with black again and blossoming into a beautiful grey spectrum.
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