The sensation is peculiar. Everything is nothing but consciousness. Existing through my memories that pass by on a continuous timeline. I don’t know where my mind begins, and my body ends, or if I even have a body. Once nothing, and now something. Just floating. But I remember my name is Ryan. I existed out there, whatever out there means.
It’s been months since I have opened my eyes, but I see. Each event of my life ticks by in vivid color and meaning. Falling off my bike when I was five. I can feel the skin that goes missing from my knee. I run home with blood running down my legs as my friends look on in shock. I run into my house into my healthy mother’s arms. I can feel the love I feel now as I float when she puts her arms around me. Unconditional, an all-enveloping ether of love. The memory clicks by and is replaced with a hospital bed. I am ten years old and I don’t want to go into the room my father is gesturing towards. Death is in that room. I can sense it in my little body. I can smell it as if it were unpleasant food cooking in a witch’s cauldron. Like in that story the woman in the room used to read to me.
Read The Light through the Water HERE