You’ve seen them, played with them, been intrigued by them, and put them away.  How did you put them away?  Did you do so as multiple pieces? Did you do so as a whole?  Did you question whether it should be considered many, or parts?

Might you, like myself, often try to recall what this toy is actually called?

Even as I conjure and restructure these thoughts from that enigmatic plane of idea, imagination, and inspiration, I fail to recall the precise name of this plaything.

My directive involves less seeking of the precise nomenclature of said trinket, but more the philosophical, psychological, and emotional importance of the “toy.”

Do we start pea-sized, minute, and crushable? Are we fragile and lose-able?  Do we possess features in this diminutive state so delicate and microscopic that those intrigued must squint and strain to determine our artlines?

Do we later see ourselves as having donned one skin, albeit identical to the core, yet providing us distance, insulation, and confidence?  Does the frail simulacrum push back the stresses of the world or is it simply a fortified reimagining of oneself?

What happens if we stack on more shells?  Does the third iteration hide a subtle flaws as it closes upon casing number two?  Does each bloating insist that the world make a less determined attempt on our core? Do they make us feel more secure?  Do they make us feel more confident?

Which do we see ourselves in the sequence?  Are we the tiny core with the meticulous, barely discernible, artwork? Do we fall in the middle, wishing for more security or yearning to shed our necessary bolstering? Are we at the saturated end of the spectrum, distended, immobile, stationary, and resigned to stagnation unless acted upon by outward forces?

Does our progress involve puny origins, followed by layer upon layer of expanse, culminating in stoic and placid acquiescence?  Once maximum fortification occurs, and our faculties begin to falter, does retraction and removal of all layers commence? Do we return to the marble sized mockup of a human being we strived so diligently to insulate from the pains of the world?

Perhaps, the truly important question has not been proposed.

It may not matter how many facsimiles exist.

It may not matter which doll we feel like in the order of expanse or collapse.

Maybe,

The truly important question is,

What’s in the smallest one?

J