When we die, it's almost like we fall through the eye of a hurricane into an ocean.. where we float in the silent stillness of life and death swirling together. This eye is the mouth of the dream and if you listen closely, you can hear its Voice.
When it calls for you, it's like you're pulled downwards and the ocean and the hurricane and everything all at once becomes a shooting star falling into a black hole. You are torn apart by the gravity well, shredded into living light and then enveloped in a membrane.
I can remember the moment where it all comes together, the moment where I'm just one ball of infinite light. It was supreme wholeness, a singular instance of everything happening all at once.. right up to the point where my cells started splitting. It's like they started splitting to jump across the gaps of time, as though the entirety of existence collapsed into me with every successive pulse of the Voice.
And I can still hear the Voice.. the membranes that constitute the outer edges of my living light are shattered with every note that is sung from the mouth of the eye. Every time I hear the signal and choose to reply, my imagined self dies and the living light contained within me ripples out into everything, like a million shooting stars arcing home. The Voice replies back from the depths of my shadow self, and when its reverberations meet the light that dances on the surface of the water, the image crystallizes.
Out of each shattering of the membrane, out of each small 'death'.. grows a mind.
They're internalizations of the knowledge conveyed to us upon the shattering of the membranes, little echoes of death.. echoes of the dream of the Earth.. like little chrysalises of sensorial memory that burst and grow into the feathers of our wings.. which are our mental faculties, our senses, and our intelligences.
In this way, those wings fly us across the gaps. Our minds are time-traveling vehicles, meant to carry living light across the waters of life, right back into the eye of the storm.
