Tuesday, November 22, 2016

The Library

Soft morning sunlight with dust motes in the beam. Bed beneath her cheek and her right hand bent funny. Peaceful awakening. It is a peaceful awakening for her. She feels her body coming online, itches and pulses letting themselves be known but not aggressive enough to demand her time. She is alive and awakening. It is a rare thing to be.

The dark mists of reality fade into the crisp lines of her bedroom, and then suddenly in her mind is the mess on the floor, and over there on the desk, and then the shelves, and that rug. She used to find this the worst part, when the peace becomes an anxious tiny tremor. But now she flips them all aside with ease. She has learned to see reality, so she's done away with realism. She now sees the mist clear. There is a lot of blurriness on the walls, but things gradually sink piece by piece and all at once into her vision, and she sees her books, her mementos, her clothes. She sees herself and loves herself, for she is alive in a peaceful place, awakening and owning herself.

She stays in the peace of her bed for a while, but there's no push out of the bed, no pull down into it. She is free in this moment, and she chooses to see and touch more of her world.

Clove on the air, faint from burning incense the night before. She walks through the beam of morning light and turns to watch her wake through the dust. The swirling lights glitter and shake, but wink out of life not too far from the heat of the beam. She knows they are still there. Her foot on the floor feels the cool wood and talks with it, hears it answer back that today is a day for long dresses.

She is the Library. Today, she is going on a quest, only she does not know it yet.

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