Who.. Are You?

I used to do this thing when I was a kid, where I would just lie in bed, lift my hand up high and just stare at it for hours and hours. Partly because I had nothing better to do, but mostly just so I can think about it; how am I here, or if any of this was real. I'd focus really hard hard and wonder how on earth I was breathing, and where I am and I'd imagine myself watching me from space, the black nothingness and stars so bright, and say, hey, look at that, it's me: the speck. Is this a dream, and if so, whose is it? And if it isn't, then how is this happening? I would see all of this in my hand, for hours and hours, lost in thought, only a hand, I told myself- but what is a hand, really? And then I'd start repeating the word over and over again till it lost all meaning, and only after I broke that barrier that was my current understanding was I free to ponder, with no belief holding me back, what everything the world taught me was really me.

Someone made this, I repeated over and over, in my head, and out loud, it explained everything. And as a kid, I was told as much, but I was also told never to question it. God, that is. So I left it alone, but everything else was fair game, and the game always lead me to the same conclusion, which was god. And then I found myself questioning my inability to question god. I mean, if I believed in him wholeheartedly, why wasn't I allowed to just delve into that part of me that yearns to know, because it wasn't just curiosity, it was almost paralyzing, it was the reason I stared at my hand all day, and it's why I could do just that for so long, because I was told not to cross the line that was questioning god's existence, and so I stayed in mind limbo. Neither thinking or not thinking about, just lying on my bed, all day, and staring.