Residual Ink

The symbol is egg. Maturation is rebirth. In the Buddhist sense, rebirth is continual: neverending, molecules shift, die, reconstruct, affect and are affected by other molecules. It's not really rebirth, just a perpetual realignment. It's the machine that runs on its own interdependent energy. The symbol, however, is still egg.

The egg is a painting. This particular egg is in a nest; the sole egg. The mother is nowhere to be found. The top half of the shell has cracked off, hinging off of the bottom half. A baby pteradactyl, bloody and exposed, with raw tendons still attached to the inner coating of the shell screeches and cries. It is cold. It is alone. The pteradactyl enters this world alone. Its wings are wet, slick, unfit for flight. Instinctively the pteradactyl is aware that it must have faith in these wings. They have a purpose, otherwise, they would not have developed. The irreversible nature of the event is what pains it the most. Above this pain is the realization that every other pteradactyl has to go through the same process; and they are all incapable of consoling each other. So it is natural-- unavoidable-- born to grow past stillbirth and stagnation. The crack is necessary.

Ultimately, the egg is not alone. It relied on warmth. It was made up of all the non-egg things. The egg doesn't exist. It was only a manifestation of all the things needed to create it. The egg is an illusion. A comfort. The reality is cold because there is no protection. The egg is irrelevant, because now it is only a shell. So now the pteradactyl must confront gravity and wind and rain. It must know the world for what it really is; it must not construct precepts, but adjust to meteorological change. Its childhood was in the egg. Temporary.

The pteradactyl must forge beyond pain and act. Instinctively, it is also aware that this is only its first responsibility. And still, it is cold outside the egg.