Floating in a vast electrical ocean. The peaks and valleys are fluid and ever-changing with the blowing wind. We are lost, and finding our way. The answers are deep, far below, and high above. Fear and tranquility alternating with the environment, the stimuli; sometimes they become one.
Dark shapes below. A pod of dolphins? A gang of sharks? We can't know until they reach the surface. Or our kicking legs.
And these clouds make shapes, and everyone wants to interpret them a certain way. And all of their interpretations, their opinions, overlap to form everything...everything that matters to us, like the spinning blades of a fan forming a circle, just for a second, yet constant.
Words stuck somewhere deep in this space, failing to attach themselves to the exhalations coming from my lungs. Stranded! We've hit the doldrums, captain.
There is no Purgatory to get to. It has always been here.
