Where am I?
What is this?
He struggles to make sense of his corporeal existence.
He is raised up high.
He is brought down low.
He is shown to those who rushed here to know.
He is passed around.
They each take their time.
He is the most recent one of their kind.
She stands under the Origin Tree.
It sits at the center of everything.
Time and space.
She reaches out for a slender limb.
Pulls it in.
Diagonally dismembers a foot long length.
Cuts a tongue into its terminal end.
Transforms it into a scion.
She lifts her face to the darkness of space.
“Which universe?” she asks.
A spark from the cosmos glows bright white.
It exits the common consciousness.
Explores alone through the vacuum of black.
Seeks new knowledge.
Seeks new facts.
An untried existence is spied upon.
Intrigued, it warps along.
It sits off center.
Sits in the black.
It leans to the left.
It occupies the end.
It occupies the beginning.
Its roots spin in indecision.
It is on one side.
They are on the other.
And, there is something in between.
They tap their jointed legs at it again and again.
They circumnavigate every edge.
They seek a gap, crack or opening.
They leave the filtered warmth of the light.
Head into the dark.
But, not too deep.
They don’t dare.
They tell themselves there is nothing there.
Leaves wave him to action.
Roots roll out a welcome.
The tree invites him to climb.
But, he cannot hear its invitation.
His ears are full of fear.
He has climbed this tree once before.
He got pretty high.
Then he fell.