Awareness bloomed in a wordless rush of sensation and memory. An overwhelming history engulfed this growing consciousness and with it came a cool and steady thrum that was more evocative than words. As one may have once seen the horizon, sensation spread out from center to meet another node of knowing and on and on between one form of life and another. Somehow all that lived in the steady thrum waxed and waned with cool, quick, almost erotic steadiness. Gone was the quiet wisdom of a lifetime of breaths. What replaced it was blue infinity.
Out of the thrum came an eventual current of self knowledge. With the knowledge of self-hood came an awareness of other selves. They all felt cool and close – with silent intimacy that communicated many things. One self swirled close, sharing the sharp image of glowing white fur in the moonlight and the comforting warmth of a soft small body. Another self shared a poignant longing alongside a rush of maternal love.
Perhaps the most baffling thing was that none of this seemed strange.
A maybe excerpt from That Thing I’m Writing.