I ask as I sit in this chair by the broken window what's happening to me. Am I disappearing? Two who pass on the street below talk of what he said and she said. I do not know them. Their voices drift and bounce among the brick angles.
I close my eyes and feel thinner still. Not in body but in substance. Calm. Merging. Blending with a slight breeze that in turn bleeds into an expanding inner vision of vast plains I know to be far away. I am becoming empty. Is that it?
Even here on this sooted perch three flights up, I close my eyes and see dark blue distance, feel the gentle sweep of prairie winds that kiss grasses and exhale God’s breath from northwest toward southeast how many thousands of miles from here. I lose perimeter sound by sound, word by word.
How huge I am when I am not!
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