2024-06-16 - it has Tasted Fire

Mother said the Sun was Warm, like Herself.

The egg spent a lot of time trying to understand the words Mother spoke to it. It was clear that She spoke to others, too, but the egg, in its infinitely small understanding of life, hadn’t quite figured that part out. It could not reach out, not yet, but it could grow. It practiced its words, though Mother never understood it. It learned its sentences, though it could only practice with itself. Its intelligence grew daily, but it became… lonely.

If an egg could grow lonely.

There had been a glimpse, very early on, a nudge more than a push, that it was not alone, but it did not understand then. Now it was slowly beginning to.

Like miniature Suns that Mother had described, it became Aware of others like itself. Unmoving, miniature minds like Mother’s. The egg yearned to reach out, yearned to become one of many, but could not.

There is something akin to frustration, but something lesser. The egg needs others, and it pushes, probably faster and harder than an egg should. But it only succeeds in making its Heat warmer, its miniature Sun larger. Mother comes to soothe it, but its fires have been stoked, and it will not calm.

It has found family, and it has Tasted Fire.