“Who am I? What am I? What am I to do?”
To deal with the first question seemed unusually easy for he had the vestiges, the leftovers of language. He didn’t know where it came from, or what most of it meant, but he had it all the same.
So he called himself I.
The second question was harder and there was nothing in his thoughts to reassure him about it.
As he pondered this uncertainty, he saw that all of a sudden he was growing something on his skin; something was pushing out from his within.
He was growing feathers, he was becoming a bird. We know that now, but he didn’t know that then, and why should he? There was no label sewn on him saying: bird.
The fact that ALL other birds know at this moment that they are to fly and therefore are birds does not take away from the fact, that at that very moment he, who called himself I, thought he was something else.
What that something else was, he did not know.
Amongst all that old language that had come from the somewhere that he knew nothing about, he found, waiting for him at a place in his thoughts, a new word, which he thought might describe him; Inventory. Was he one of these, he thought?
However this was a moment of wonder for another reason too. The egg where he was living was becoming thinner, so more light was shining through into the place that he found himself in. this also meant he could see there was something else in there with him too.
It was a book.
He picked it up and turned it over. On its cover it simply read:
The Book of ‘I’
Well it must be his then, after all he was ‘I’.
'I' was soon to discover that 'I' was not only an inventing kind of thing but also a Master at it and that his book of 'I' was writing down everything that 'I' had once known and as 'I' and the book of 'I' were actually one and the same~life was about to get extreamly interesting!