Lately, if I clear my mind long enough, put the world around me out of my mind and drift—it’s like I begin transcending time and gain a stronger sense of my mortality. And, if I keep my mind clear long enough, it’s as if I could skip to the end of my life and never notice the in between. It feels like this death, one that I assume to be years, decades away, is right next to me and I can finally notice it when I stop looking at anything around me. The tunnel of time expands around me until time has no sense of distance but only mass, confiscating my vision, until I’m awash in the chronological space that I’m allowed to occupy; and eventually even the time wicks outward to become nothing more than a mere outline of this aptly named “white light”. It presents itself with a definiteness and reality that I can’t trust but I can’t help but lose myself in. I can’t stop staring at the light.
Images of friends, family, loved ones are pulled away, outwardly. I can sense my accomplishment and the world’s development around me, and my marginal, yet personal, existence. It should be more troubling than this, as I’ve been told; but it’s not.
And fuck you, this isn’t drugs talking.