All around me there is darkness, receding in all directions, stretching out to touch the corners of infinite. But this darkness is tangible; it is there for a reason. It is not the absence of light, but rather a force in and of itself. But neither is this place, or time, or dimension--whatever it is--devoid of a light to counterbalance the dormant energy of the darkness.The light does not come from a source. It's just there, pervading the shadow with a soft glow, an evanescent radiance that slowly pulsates at the center of the darkness. It peers timidly out into the unnatural night, gingerly touches the edges, but never dares to go too far from its carefully drawn perimeters.
I am not within my body, but neither am I separate from it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I can feel the wisp-thin thread that connects me to the boy lying on the damp concrete, the tall buildings rising on either side of him, unconscious of his presence as the rest of the world is. It must be somewhere between nightfall and morning, because a vague memory comes to me of wandering past tower after tower, face after face, and finally slipping into an alcove as the broiling sun disappeared behind the wavering skyline. There is something else, something I know, or knew, but an invisible barrier keeps my fevered mind from grasping it.
Death occurrs to me. Not the word, but the concept itself. But I don't know where it comes from, or who it is connected to: me, or the boy, or someone else? But even then, these three are somehow linked. That boy who lies asleep behind the glass veil is part of me, a part I cannot survive without. He is the body, and I the mind. As this realization dawns on me, the light spreads, ever so slightly. But for some inexplicable reason, I am now farther from it, and higher. The glow has changed from clear and colorless, like effervescent water, to a golden mist in which I can see shapes and forms writhing and swirling like tendrils of smoke. Images fade in and fade out of the radiance: a swan, a book, an empty street, a statue holding a torch, a flowering tree, a sea of faces beneath blinding lights. Along with these images come a whirlwind of thoughts and impressions that I don't have time to process. All that remains when they disappear is a sensation of spinning, the thunder of applause in my ears, and once again, that awareness of death.
Now I am moving toward the center, toward the light. I don't know how; I myself am not moving at all, but neither do I feel anything pushing or pulling me. But still I come closer and closer to the golden shine, till it's whirling all around me. I look down, and though there never was any floor to be seen, somehow I know I am rising, along with the shimmering threads of amber light. As I ascend, my connection to the boy grows stronger, spreading out of the corners of my mind until it almost entirely envelopes my consciousness. Or rather, runs alongside it, parallel to it, so that I am aware of being in both states at once: gliding gently upward, like a diver swimming toward the surface, and lying on cold, wet cement in some silent city. But this recalls something, though I'm not quite sure what. Twirling, turning, twisting under dazzling lights, brighter than the sun and the stars, casting a sheen that eerily resembles that of moonlight. And as my altered consciousness joins with that of the boy, a few pieces start to fall together, forming a broken picture that I can still only guess at.
He is in pain, that much is clear, but whether this is physical or emotional pain I can't tell. And this death that we are both acutely aware of is not his--not mine--but it is still a part of us, searing through our mind and body, an outside force that has somehow worked its way within. This death belongs to someone else, someone we must care about, but they have passed it on to us, even as they passed on to whatever realms awaited them on the other side of the veil. And through this maze runs the chord of movement--of dance.
It dawns on me. That is what I am. I am a ballet dancer, spinning and weaving, a silken strand of fluid motion moving sinuously through the translucent water, moving upward toward an unknown light. But the light is not death, not the other side. It's not the radiance of a better place, or a higher dimension. It's the pale, somber aura of the world I came from, the world to which I am now joined to more than ever. More thoughts, sensations, and emotions cascade down on me, so many that for a moment I forget who and what I am, despite their desperate attempts to remind me. I am very near the gray portal now, the last place I want to go, the only place I can ever truly be. I turn restlessly, and my clouded eyes are pierced by the white reflection of sunrise on a silver skyscraper. I give in to the rising water and allow myself to dance upward, into myself.
The moment I am aware of the painfully beautiful music that has been flowing through my mind all the while, it is gone.
