Prologue

You remember the day you were born. The feeling of separation, and the wash of human sorrow through your body, the way your fingertips and toes felt as you became your own self, separating from the whole like a bubble of oil in a warm lava lamp. You remember the electricity of selfness that arced just once but unmistakably between your tiny fingers and the great comfort you received from the arms that quickly enfolded you and the breast you suckled soon afterwards; the milk that went some small and strangely unsatisfying way towards feeding this hungry thing that you were.

You remember a shaft of sunlight through the window high above your crib, specks of something dancing in the stream of afternoon light, and your hand reaching to touch them and instead sending them swirling even faster in the gold. You remember lying on your back communing will all the things that you could see. There was no thing you could not talk to and you talked to every thing.

You remember crawling. Crawling seemed a fine thing to be doing, until you answered some unspoken need to stand upright on your strong little legs. With wits and tiny clenched fists you pulled yourself up to the edge of the glass coffee table and suddenly the world was filled with things you absolutely had to have though you had not even known they existed just a few minutes before.

And so the search began, fed by a hunger that you never named because it was never separate from who you were. The concept of I or me came with a need that was simply in you. And you spent a part of every day feeding it or planning how to.

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