Feel that whisper slowly drift across your skin,
Your mind.
That faint call rippling through the void,
The emptiness.
That pull.
Let it drag you for a moment,
Just drifting.
Feel yourself give no resistance.
Feel the emptiness offer no friction.
Simply float in that nothing.
A moment,
A breath.
Another.
For who knows how long,
Give no reaction,
As you were,
As everything is.
Leave that behind now,
As you turn to face this whispered echo,
And see the great expanse.
Empty.
It flickers,
Shining out in the distance of the immense black gulf,
Stars just visible from the edge of nowhere.
Somewhere out there is what pulls you,
And eventually you must respond.
Breathe in again,
Drawing in that blankness without odor,
Without taste.
There is,
Quite literally,
Nothing here for you.
Feel the sorrow at the loss of that blank state.
Let the emotion exist,
Hovering,
But also let it flow past.
Don't fight it,
But do not take it in.
Let it be as empty as you have been.
Another breath.
And return to the calm state,
Accepting the expanse,
But not taking it in.
Be as the void,
A child of nothing.
Calm.
Focused.
Clear.
And in that concise instant of now,
Move towards that whisper,
This time under your own power.
Neither reaction nor assertive willing of a state.
Simply do what needs to be done.
Flexing and stretching your limbs,
Swim through that deepness,
That emptying clarity,
Without friction,
Without resistance.
With nothing to slow you,
Nothing to hold you back.
As you flex and feel the unlimited strength in your amorphous limbs,
Breathe in,
Out.
Feel the nothing stirring through your substance,
Filling you,
Then emptying the edge of gravity and time,
Twisting in your lungs.
In,
Out.
There's a peace in that,
Something you can feel yourself striving to cling to,
But you know it is also something you cannot have,
Nor should you have.
Emptiness and contentment are in and of themselves anathema.
They cannot be achieved at once.
Nothing for void conflicts with holding onto nothing,
And especially here,
There is nothing to hold onto,
Except that pull.
Nothing lasts.
Even this negation of anything,
It must end.
Change ever the constant.
To hold onto a fixed object,
To cling,
That only leads to pain,
Even when that stalwart element is nothing at all.
Move towards the change,
With it,
Accepting it.
Acknowledge and flow,
Or in this case,
Be pulled.
Across this great expanse,
There are only so many possible calls.
And this,
This is the most pressing.
You remember the feeling,
The express sense of purpose,
Of destiny,
Of import.
Those don't matter.
Not anymore,
Not here.
But you still remember them.
Vaguely,
Distantly,
Drifting ships in an ocean fog.
Let them slide in,
And slip past.
Do not fight the memories.
Warring with them only makes them calcify more.
But never cling.
Leave them to their ephemerality,
Impermanent whispers of what once was.
You have broader,
Stronger,
More whole callings to answer.
This has been Quiet Stirrings of the Fatal Neutrinos.
Stories of histories that weren't,
Futures that mustn't,
And places that cannot be.
This starts the Bright Steps Meditation Series.
Thank you for listening.
I hope your day is calmer and a bit more peaceful for it.
This is Easton,
And remember,
I'm as much work of fiction as anything you hear.
