Awaiting Clarification

Awaiting Clarification

Sometimes the light filters down to me; but not very often.

Usually there is just darkness; and the beating of The Mother’s heart.

The beat. Continuous, unrelenting, a gentle reminder that I am alive and I exist; and that I shall be alive and I shall exist indefinitely, as long as The Mother’s heart continues to beat.

Some time ago I heard an answering beat in my body. I don’t know how long; time has little meaning in this place. Then I did not have the appropriate brain material to remember how it felt to have blood rushing through my newly-formed veins; but I imagine that it was exhilarating. It was certainly exhilarating to watch my limbs gradually extend themselves from my torso, form round, swollen joints, curl into pearlescent fingers and stubby toes; exhilarating to feel my muscles hook themselves onto my coalescing bones, and exhilarating to use those muscles for the first time, aimlessly prying the viscous liquid that is my world.

But, racing on top of this exhilaration, comes a deep and echoing confusion. Sounds come seeping through The Mother’s belly; one of them I recognise as The Mother’s noises, and it calms me where I float; other sounds are pleasant and rhythmical, and I listen hard to them. Some sounds come more frequently than others; one, deeper than The Mother’s, often appears close by, and when it is near the liquid distends, pressing towards me. This sound and The Mother’s sound often come in tandem, exchanging noises soft and low; I feel The Mother’s heartbeat race when it arrives, then gradually calm as it stays. And when this second sound is near, there is often a third sound, high and peeping, that The Mother’s noise is especially comforting near. Other noises come drifting back and forth; but all less frequently than these three. I feel a special affinity with them, though I could not tell you why; well, except for The Mother’s noise. The Mother, from whom I take all life and all existence, needs no explanation.

There is movement, frequently. The liquid I am in sloshes. And a deep roar that often accompanies it. But I could not tell you what it is, or why movement should roar sometimes; but not always.

Soon, I know, I shall come rushing into the places I can sense outside The Mother; I can feel it coming, though I could not be precise as to when. I can feel my body growing and strengthening, straining against the boundaries of The Mother’s belly; soon I shall grow too large for her, and she shall eject me, to emerge into the unknown places.

Perhaps then I shall learn the identity of the two noises I often hear, and the name for the rhythmical sound I find so enticing. Perhaps then I shall know why movement should sometimes roar and should sometimes not; perhaps then the flailing of my limbs shall come to more than just a disturbance of the liquid.

But until then I shall remain here, in the almost unbroken dark, listening to the three special noises and the myriad inconsequential ones; until then I shall remain here, and await clarification.