Listen.
With each breath,
Sense that swirling cacophony,
Feel how many particles rip through one another,
Striving to fight their way forward.
Be a part of that noise,
That motion.
Let it drag and pull at your barely-existent form.
Tumble and dance,
Tossed through the gaseous perfume.
Let those deep purples and alien violets fill your sense of mind.
Breathe as you tear through the endless hurricane.
Simple,
Slow breaths as you flow through the desolate sameness in,
Out,
In,
Out.
Stop.
On that last exhale,
Take hold of your position.
Never resist the winds,
But direct your flow through them.
By channeling that force,
Find your space.
Order created by embracing the chaos.
Let that dust,
So abhorrent to life,
Pull and twist your amorphous form.
Let that corrosive breath expand your senses.
Feel what feeling felt like.
Breathe in,
Out.
And in that,
Remember.
There may have once been pain in breath,
Fear in drawing upon the atmosphere for sustenance.
Now,
It is as lifeless as you.
Sense out,
Finding all those little shards of frozen liquid as they dance and twirl around you,
Through you.
What would have once blasted you to pieces now simply moves on,
Barely rippling your shapelessness.
Let the calm of that moment infuse you,
That sense of what was as gone.
Yet,
Yet in that,
Feel the gentle tug,
That call to pain.
There is calm in this miasma of toxins and ice,
A brutal place you could never be.
Quiet.
A sense of absolute order because nothing is being put in its place.
It is natural simply because it exists.
You exert no expectations over it,
And in return,
It simply is.
Filling your non-existent lungs with vapors and fragments,
Dragging you through this featureless space.
For a brief moment more,
Lasting hours or days you don't care to know,
Dance within these infinite clouds.
Breathe slowly in their midst,
Finding what you remember once having.
In,
Out.
And in that last breath,
Notice that tug,
That pull,
And let yourself be called.
.
.
This has been Winds Under Ammonia,
A Bright Steps meditation of the fatal neutrinos,
Stories of histories that weren't,
Futures that mustn't,
And places that cannot be.
Thank you for listening,
And thank you for your patience during this little bit of a delayed period.
There will be another episode out Monday,
And then the normal one Friday,
So we'll be back on track.
This is Easton.
Remember,
I am as much a work of fiction as anything you hear.
