Am I an onion or an acorn?
It's a vain quest to explore one's inner self,
Desperately searching for a clue to the "who?",
Excising layers upon layer to find the core,
Longing to find the "you" that is true.
Like an onion,
layer after layer is onion still,
And who ARE you is in question no more.
You WERE those layers now strewn on the floor.
I do not wish to leave us in despair,
Heaps of layers no one can repair.
The point is to look without, do not look within.
Even an onion has a next of kin.
Follow the family tree,
Ask yourself, "who made me?".
And Who made who made who made me?
Till you come to the root of the family tree.
An oak tree is from an acorn,
Each tree is from a seed,
Each seed is from a tree,
Was it a seed or a tree that was the origin of me?
An acorn is a set of oak tree plans,
Each tree replicates the set in its seed,
But trees can plans replicate,
Tress can not plans create.
So who is the Engineer who drew up the plans?
Plans replicated like the dessert sands.
To answer the question "who I am?",
I must answer the question, "who drew my plan?"
