Light and unfeeling. Drifting and expanding through time and space.
And then, as I know I am about to pierce the crust of existence, like a flying fish leaping out of the sea, I feel the pull from below.
It annoys me. I want to shake it off. On the verge of blending with the universe I hear the whispers around the ridges of consciousness.
And that ever-so-slight tug holds me to the finite and mortal world below.
Slowly, as waves recede, my expanding spirit shrinks back into earthly dimensions—
not voluntarily, because I would prefer to lose myself, but I am pulled from below, back to myself, into myself,
so that for just one moment I am on the couch again, fitting the fingers of my awareness into the glove of my flesh.
And I know I can move this finger or wink that eye— if I want to. But I don't want to move.
I will not move! I wait, and leave myself open, passive, to whatever this experience means.
Charlie doesn't want me to pierce the upper curtain of the mind.
Charlie doesn't want to know what lies beyond. Does he fear seeing God? Or seeing nothing?
As I lie here waiting, the moment passes during which I am myself in myself, and again I lose all feeling of body or sensation.
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