Before You Were Born

There must be an entry point somewhere in the fabric of being, perhaps an unhealed wound in the bark of an ancient tree deep in a primordial forest or gouged in the cliff face of a remote shoreline where southern ocean gales pound the continent, or somewhere quiet, unobtrusive, hidden from view in a corner of the self where it has been all your life. You feel its cool breath blow across your face much like when a slight breeze comes out of a cave when standing near its mouth. There are days now when you are there near its gape when a weariness takes hold and you peer into a dark nothingness at the very centre of yourself, see it begin to slowly dissolve mind and form, welcoming you back to that place where you were before you were born.