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'Everything that's created comes out of silence.
Your thoughts emerge from the nothingness of silence.
Your words come out of this void.
Your very essence emerged from emptiness.
All creativity requires some stillness.'
- Wayne Dyer
I feel I should be concerned about where I was or, at the very least, not feel so at ease, but pursuing that line of thought required me to be truly conscious and alert.
That's the issue—I couldn't stay awake.
Although at the beginning I found myself adrift in darkness, which allowed me to ponder this peculiar afterlife, I managed to maintain a degree of awareness about the situation, if it could even be called that.
There wasn't much I could do, but whenever I wasn't actively engaged in something, such as reflecting on my non-existence, I would lose consciousness.
Indeed, I would black out.
I might describe it as being asleep, but that doesn't seem entirely accurate; it was as though I was close to it.
In one moment, I was conscious, my mind wandering through thoughts of my existence while I listened to the muted voice of my Angel, and in the next, I was engulfed in this odd sensation that wrapped around me like a warm blanket.
Oddly, with each awakening, this warm blanket felt incrementally tighter.
I can't pinpoint the moment I began to experience this sensation since, after all, I lacked a physical form to speak of. It was as if I could sense a phantom body - feeling its presence without it truly existing. The onset of this entire experience eludes me. One moment, I was adrift, and the next, enveloped in softness and warmth.
Initially, the snugness was comforting, but it eventually became so constricting that I couldn't even kick, much less stretch out my imagined limbs. Aside from that, I found this peculiar existence rather pleasant; it was cozy, and surprisingly, I felt a genuine sense of contentment despite the oddity of my situation.
Who would have thought that such tranquility and affection could be found in darkness?
Had I been alive, I might have said that life still had plans for me.
Though I wasn't living, something was unfolding.
From the shadows, what seemed like flashes of lightning burst forth; they flickered around me, silent and benign. The spectacle was purely visual but captivating, especially since I had seen nothing in this darkness until now. I found it impossible to avert my gaze from the mesmerizing display of lighting threads.
I called them Threads of Lightning.
Very original, I know.
Unlike the lightning with which I was familiar, characterized by its "tail" and "fingers," this kind intertwined with each other, momentarily forming a spiderweb. It was awe-inspiring, and for a moment, it completely captivated me until Angel's voice broke through.
I couldn't make out what she was saying, but her tone carried an urgency.
Was she upset?
Was I not meant to witness this?
I felt as though I should be concerned by her reaction and by what was unfolding before me.
But... I wasn't.
The spectacle of the lightning was, after all, quite spectacular.