When I think about the little one inside, and whether it's okay or not, it doesn't make much sense. I feel different but it's ME that feels different. I can't feel anything in there or connect with anything separate. But thinking about it a bit more that is the truth of it. There is nothing in there yet that is separate from me. I feel the making, and that is me, and it's undistinguished from the life that isn't an other.