In the beginning, there is only darkness. I am cradled in it, adrift, caught in currents that I cannot see but feel all around me. I have no shape, not yet, but I am here, resting in the cocoon of warmth and silence. The world around me is vast and ancient, a boundless ocean that hums with a steady, rhythmic throb. It's like a song just beneath my awareness, filling the stillness with a quiet, comforting beat.
I am small—so small that I cannot imagine the edges of myself. I am a whisper of existence, tucked deep within layers of warmth and softness. I am aware of nothing beyond this rhythm, this lullaby that carries me, though I feel the push and pull of something endless. I am surrounded, held, but free to drift, and I drift, letting the song of the dark waters soothe me.
Days pass, though I do not know days as others do. Here, time has no name. I exist in moments, carried along, changing without even knowing it. Somewhere deep within, I sense a spark, a stirring like the first flutter of wings. This spark grows, and with it, I begin to shift, to stretch. Cells within me divide, multiply, blossoming like a hidden bud. Each one is a part of me, small pieces weaving together into a whole I cannot yet comprehend.
I am not alone. I am part of something vast and alive, and this knowledge pulses faintly within me. I feel a connection—strong, eternal—to a being I do not yet know but feel as an essence, a presence that surrounds me. I don't have words, not yet, but if I did, I would call her "Mother."
My growth continues, relentless and mysterious. I am no longer just a spark but a mass, a gathering of cells that twist and fold upon themselves. This change feels like a deep, ancient magic, a force that moves me forward, always forward. Each day—though I don't know days as others do—brings new wonders. I stretch, I curve, I form. I am becoming.
It is around this time that I begin to feel, though the sensations are faint and fleeting. Softness presses around me on all sides, a protective bubble that holds me close, yet leaves me space to expand. There is warmth here, a gentle embrace that wraps around me like soft blankets, keeping me safe. The warmth is alive, vibrating with the rhythm of a heartbeat that I've come to know as the music of this place. It soothes me, drawing me deeper into sleep, where I dream, though I do not know what dreams are. I feel peace, a quiet belonging. This, I think—though I do not yet know thinking—is my world.
I grow arms, tiny buds that begin to form from the shifting within me, stretching out like the tendrils of a plant reaching for sunlight. These arms will one day lift me, hold me, touch the world beyond, though I cannot yet imagine what that world looks like. My fingers form, too, delicate as new leaves, and with them, I begin to feel the edges of my small, enclosed universe.
As I change, so does my awareness. The sound of her heartbeat grows louder, closer. The music of the thump, thump, thump fills my world, pulsing in time with the rhythms inside me. Sometimes, I feel a strange sensation, like a flutter, as if something presses against my tiny, forming hands and feet. It's a gentle pressure, just there for a moment before it disappears, as if something beyond the walls of this dark sea has acknowledged me, just briefly, before pulling back again.
I am comforted by it, by the presence beyond my small world, by the thumping rhythm that seems to answer my own faint pulse. I am still forming, still growing, but I sense that I am connected to her, that her life sustains mine, flowing into me like sunlight into roots hidden deep in the soil. Her world is still unknown to me, but I feel it, its warmth and movement all around me.
As my awareness deepens, so do the sounds. I hear faint murmurs now, muffled and distorted as if they are carried through deep water. The tones rise and fall, their pattern soothing, like distant waves against a shore. They are unfamiliar yet comforting, hints of a language I cannot yet grasp, but it fills me with a sense of belonging. I feel, though I cannot explain it, that these sounds are meant for me.
I continue to grow, my tiny arms and legs lengthening, my spine curving, forming into the body I will one day know as my own. I stretch and twist in my small world, pressing against the edges, feeling the boundaries around me. Sometimes, I sense a shadow, as if the walls of this world ripple, responding to some movement in the vastness beyond. I am still small, still tucked safely within, but I am growing, filling more and more of this space, and with each passing moment, I am becoming more aware.
My senses sharpen. The music of her heartbeat is a constant presence, but now, I hear more—a second rhythm, faster than the first, and I realize it is my own. I have a heartbeat, a rhythm all my own, a quiet echo of hers. We are two, yet we are one, and this knowledge fills me with a strange, quiet joy.
In the stillness, I begin to recognize touch. It is soft, so soft, like feathers brushing against me, gentle and fleeting. I feel the flow of liquid around me, a gentle current that holds me close yet lets me drift, suspended in this warm, dark ocean. I press tiny fingers against it, feeling the slight give and resistance, my first exploration of the world beyond myself. My toes curl, my hands stretch, and in these small movements, I feel the pulse of life, of something greater than myself.
The days blur together in this womb, each one bringing new changes, new sensations. I am no longer just a collection of cells. I am becoming something, someone. I feel the world around me shifting, as if to make room for me, and I am filled with a sense of wonder. I do not yet know my purpose, my place, but I feel that it is waiting, just beyond the boundaries of this warm, dark cocoon.
And so I grow, I wait, held in the embrace of this ancient rhythm. I am a small life, a tiny spark in the vastness, but I am here. I am becoming.
