Sit still. Try to control your breathing,
for this will be painful. Not only the
body, but mind and mythical heart
as well. Because we like to know what
will happen, even though knowing
itself is painful, we crave it ever since
Eve passed the fruit to Adam’s willing
hand. I will take the best parts of you,
and the worst, both those you see and
those that are hidden. I will mix them
so that you do not know which is which,
but will be ever surprised. I will dig my
fingers deep into this raw clay, driving
it under my fingernails, ripping and
tearing it through violence and chaos into
something new, that will think and walk
and breathe on its own. It will neither love
nor hate you, at first, but everything you do,
everything you say, every action of your life
until your last breath will change it, will
lead it in return to imitate emotions, and
you will never be able to predict the outcome.
If someday it should turn on you, beware, for
it knows all your weaknesses, and can kill with
a single word, can rip you inside out with pain.
For the thing I have created, the golem of your
flesh, will be all things to you, but never will
be simple, never will be uncomplicated, for
that is the natural, unadorned state of the thing
we call a child, and merely calling it your child
is the one act that will never make it yours.