The strong, grey walls squeeze down around me. Stressed, congested, with no air to breathe, no space to experience myself or perceive the other. All my senses tell me to run away: you’re suffocating; save yourself! But I have nowhere to run. And I cannot run because I know these grey walls belong to me. When I look more closely, I see that these crushing walls are far from solid and are instead made of shifting, fleeting particles that move so quickly and in such numbers that I cannot fix on or identify any individual fragment. But I do realise what they are made of—I am surrounded by stories, so many stories, so many unfinished situations, suppressed emotions, unexpressed feelings, erratic, nonstop ruminations, and endless fears—all the things that I don't own but is mine surrounds me in the form of grey particles that move so fast that together, they look like a solid wall. This cloud separates me from vitality, joy, and presence, and creates a feeling of claustrophobia. The moment I can see through this cloud of particles, I see the endless space of the universe surrounding me, sharing and providing. Not only that, I recognise that I am made of exactly same substance as the universe itself. I am an emerging star child, just being born.