As I drift through this life,
I seldom think about the creature that I am.
I don't notice my hands anymore,
they grew to be a part of my surroundings,
like a corner of my room that I see each day yet never think about.
But sometimes I catch a glimpse of my feet,
and sometimes they wake me up to the thing that I am.
My feet is where I start and where I end.
And they are goofy, like disfigured hands,
like hands that were ground down into this form by millennia of running.
And suddenly also my hands become visible for the first time in a long while.
And I follow my fingers up my arms and then up my shoulders to rediscover my head.
And like so I bootstrap myself into existence for a brief moment in time,
only to fall back into a headless slumber shortly thereafter.
What remains of this particular awakening is: My feet