Often I think of myself as an individual. A body separate from the rest of the world. But, for ages, a single questions has bothered me: Where do I end and the rest of the universe start. All of the time I’m shedding bits of skin and hairs. Once they fall are they still a part of me? And when I eat and drink and breathe I take bits of the universe in. I make it a part of myself. When is a breath of air really a part of me?

It’s likely that bits of me once were a part of other living creatures. I was once a part of my mother and before that I was even a tiny part of my father. When was there the critical mass of futurebird required to make me distinct?

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not, in fact distinct at all. I only believe myself to be. I am a part of the universe in the same way that my hand is a part of me. Individuality is nothing more than a sensation that assists me in living.

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