Touching the white soil, my new friends the stars let me fall. It’s not a fall that ever would hurt, not that I could feel pain again. My mind is clear, and ahead of me is nothing and everything and love and peace; it is, therefore, happiness. If I had matter anymore, I would use it to run around this new luego or crawl into an undiscovered line to see what it holds. I am no longer a body, though. I am no longer just a dream, just a being, just a matter composite. I can fly so I do. I can sing so I do.
A tree looms in front of me from the stars. They school together to form, at first, a chrome silhouette, but then it forms into a real, living tree in this white Ibid. it could be a box I’m in, but I can’t find the edges. It could be an effervescence I’m in, but then I could leave it. I can see all directions and fly forever but never could I leave and never could I find an end and never could I want to. This is everything, this is hope and life and existences.
I am by the tree now, up in its branches and leaves and xylem, flowing through it as if I am it. I am bark and roots and the fruit on its ends; but this tree is one thing, or a compilation of tissue creating one thing. I leave its system but do not find whiteness again. Below me is dark, thick water, next to me are trees hanging or wilting but thriving and growing. Their branches skim the water, their roots protrude from its surface. What I know to be insects flutter around me. If I was on earth it might be night time or the trees might be covering the sun. There is light, but only enough for me to see a thin mist above the still water. I believe them to be fire flies, they flutter around me. They are the stars in the form of things I can recognize.
I look back at the tree I recently embodied and see moss growing up its side. I see an alligator’s eyes making wake in the water. I see people, like I would have found on earth in the southern parts of the united states when people could survive in villages with paper lanterns hanging from trees and homemade musical instruments and straw hats and dug out boats for traveling. So I follow them. They smile at each other and talk, but I can no longer understand human tongue, nor will I need to again. I realize that they are communicating with the fireflies and the trees and before I can desire that, I am communicating too. With them and with the alligator and the mosquitoes and mosses.
Still not a human and still without matter, I am with them and know everything by its thoughts. The humans in the boats carry me along in their minds. I am this person now, but still not a person at all. I do not control or direct, I follow and relax. Someone else gets to do the work and I enjoy the world through her eyes.
“Now another person, she experiences Ibid as if it were her home. Like a human as she was on earth, but with less strain. There is no worry or anxiety like on earth, her future is not in danger. Nothing can go so wrong that she won’t exist anymore, for she hardly exists at all.
“The bodies carry her down the water to where they call home. She touches the fireflies with herself, hugs the mosses and trees. She can feel the presence of the many fish in the water. The eyes that she watches from look down into the boat at the dirty feet of the body. The body is happy and calm; she knows this, but she doesn’t feel it. All she can feel is peace and happiness. The stars materialize into numerous houses perched upon stilts many feet in the air. There is land, but it is not dry. Other humans are dancing and laughing in circles, around fires, their feet hanging from the houses, music in their hands, paper glowing lanterns hanging from the trees.
“The body lifts itself from the boat, its feet move the way the drum beats. If there was air, it would be blowing at the hair on the people around her. Rain is falling now; it makes this world shine gray. Its droplets on the surface form circles from its wake. If she could have felt it, it would be cold and wet. Now her person’s walking in a line it set. Light flicks in the lanterns hanging from the trees. If she could have felt it, there would have been a breeze.
“People here aren’t running like they did on earth. Their bodies wet, their skin is cold, they dance in the music that harmonizes with the rain. Many of them sing, she does so as well. Not the body she watches from, but herself sings. She can’t touch the rain- or rather the rain can’t touch her. She feels the music, though; it reverberates through whatever she is. It is unearthly, of course. When she was human, music would travel to her mind and it provided pleasure, but it would dispense very soon as would the joy it brought. Here, in Ibid, the music is not quickly lost into the air, its enjoyment is not fleeting. Each new note, each beat, each rain drop plays off of itself and off of the other sounds. Even the laughter and chatter of those around her was music. Rather than ending and never being heard again, it compiles inside of her so that each new moment is only an extension of the last. The relaxation intensifies with each “sound wave,” building this glowing love inside of her that will never drain out. It becomes her and she becomes the sound and the pleasure and the laughter and the rain and the people. She could feel them all. As soon as she does so, they are aware of her presence; they welcome her like one of them, hands the body she is in an instrument, and stands her on the highest stilted house. From there she and the body express together the purest form of peace. It reverberates through Ibid. The rain falls harder, the people smile bigger, the fireflies swarm into a light show that is unlike anything that could ever be seen. Or will ever be seen. Everyone sings, dances, hugs, loves. They love each other and Ibid and the stars of which it is composed.
“Seeing Ibid this way delivers a strange kind of joy. It is unconventional and thus far unrealized to any. On earth, this scene would have simultaneously been the most frightening and the most beautiful thing that she had ever experienced. It is because of this fear that it can become anything worth experiencing or anything so beautiful. Ibid displays it to her with fear substituted for serenity. Ibid, therefore, only intensifies her love of this luego that no longer exists on earth. Here forth she sings and flies through the branches, with the fireflies, as the stars, in the people, to the music. Every movement is bliss that is never excreted. Every movement is love for Ibid and love for her soul and the stars that conjured it.”
Cecilia Vatera is an expression of ideas. I post my thoughts and inspirations here, in the expectation that those who read it will question and challenge it, pass it to trusted friends and family who will also challenge it, and then explain to me their contradictory thoughts. Please, let this compilation broaden your way of thinking.