What is life but a series of incarnations, which last so many months or years(if only we might endure them)? We mutate, we grow dormant. And then, in sleep, we kick the shell. We awaken to find a gleaming fracture, which widens whether we like it or not.
We know not where it leads. "Inside" was all we knew. And then, we find, our world is but a membrane wall whose confines we've outgrown. The cycle repeats, a fresh incarnation, each world larger than the last, but steadily growing smaller.
I wonder at the final eggshell...or is it eggshells for eternity? One after another, and life is just another shell to leave behind? Wishful thinking, that. A fuzzy teddy to have and to hold as this shell spins. One shell at a time, I always say.