Last night I felt the hatch open. The moment hummed with a haunting chord, spilling over and slipping through my widely ajar consciousness. I felt the skeletal dream haul anchor and scuffle in the dust. I felt the foetal tug toward the wide yawning, the light beckoning, every cell and substance sucked out in the dim light of the primal scream that passed another spirit entering.
There was a moment there when I knew I could go anywhere.
I felt the gasping chasm of the eternal mystery draw one frothing breath as it spat me out through the darkening crack of the door’s fading light. For one breathless moment, I hung suspended at the lip of the universe, my body shelled in jelly. I felt a shadow pass over me, the steam of eternity nuzzling its damp roots into every pore. The anchor pulled again, jerking my head around in a slowly puffing cloud, as the horizon scuttled across my vision in a blur of dust and thunder.
All I wanted to do was get back. I could feel the tug at both ends. I knew this feeling. It’s a feeling I’ve practiced before. It’s a feeling I've staked out with the same dulling poles, the same fading perimeter. I knew this feeling with a familiar buzzing that sawed inside the marrow. The dream had peeled back its silver lining and now lay exposed to its screaming core. All the soft allure of the astral leap was suddenly stuck through with needles. The hatch was closing. The only connection to my familiar self was snaking out.
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