Darkness coursed around me as a flowing stream, and I tried to swim against it. Wind, as rapids, fought my body, pushing it backward, even as it flowed around me—making way for me, yet stopping all progress. My muscles strained in achieving my goal, which was as unknown to myself as to those, who, at a distance, looked upon me, as through telescopes. Sweat dripped from my forehead in desperation, as I reached—reached for what? There is a goal, but what is it? My motivation is as dark as the space around me, as my hand before my eyes. My achievement was so close, so close, but this infernal wind—millions of tiny hands keeping me still as my outstretched arms groped for....
The courses move me without my consent. I am pushing forward, swimming, finding friction, but it manipulates me in mysterious ways. My legs are lifted up, my arms pushed down. I am spun in myriad directions. Each microscopic hand caresses me, stirring me, and I am dizzy from the air's invasions, as if each organ of my body were open to its persistent touch. I fight against my mind's surrender to nothingness, but I am giving way.
Suddenly, I am floating on top of the wind, as it had pushed me up to the surface. The molecules of chaos still course below me, but I am floating on top of it, and the air is still on my front. I float on the water— is it water? Or is it coursing winds? Or a soft pillow that I rest upon? I know not, except that I rest on the solidity of that which could break at any time, and fall into the abyss. I float upon the soft, chaotic stillness, and above me is nothingness, openness, empty upon my senses, immeasurable.
