Nice to see you. I mean, really nice. You probably don’t remember what it’s like, being born, but it’s pretty dark up in there. Dark and cozy, and that’s good, because there’s not much to see on the inside. And yes, it’s bright when you come out, and loud, and cold, and noisy, and there are just so many sensations, but once you get wrapped up in a warm blanket, get latched on to the boob, get settled, it’s nice to start to look around and see things. People. Well, one person in particular. The mothership, so to speak.

I’ve been hearing her voice a lot, but to put a face to the voice, that’s something special, isn’t it? I believed in her existence completely before this—her voice, her presence, the way she kept me safe in the dark. But believing and seeing are entirely different experiences. Believing is good and all, but seeing wins.

I’ll tell you what sucks, or I would, if I could talk. That’s what sucks. That I can’t talk. I open my mouth and I don’t even know what comes out. Nothing. Gobbledygook. It’s so frustrating. I want to tell you everything about my trip here, about where I was before, in the in-between, the dash, the bardo, when I was nothing but a thought, a wisp, an eternal fiery little peanut in the perpetual, soulful trail mix of the universe. But I can’t. So I cry. It’s awful.

And take gravity, for example. I don’t remember being taught about that in Earth class before heading down into the uterine casserole. Everything is so heavy. Can’t even turn over! And my head. It’s a big damn head. When the mothership lifts me up, she supports my neck and it’s a very good thing too, because my head is so damn heavy. The lightness of being that I experienced in the otherwhere, it’s gone.

Here, everything feels burdensome and onerous and sticky, like you stick when you try to do anything. Just to lift your feet up, to move your eyes, everything takes thought and planning and effort. It’s frustrating and time consuming. This is not an easy place to be.

It’s been a long trip from the other side. A long trip. I need to sleep a lot. And gorge myself on breast milk. And sleep again.

I wish I could tell you anything. I wish I could tell you everything. I wish I could tell you what God’s face looks like, because I’m starting to forget.