Falling into the abyss, we find quietude. We find corneal respite from the ever-searching, beseeching light in the room, on our faces, in our wake. We fall slowly, waiting for the deep to swallow us whole, whole, more whole still and in a way that may relieve us of the burden of light.
It is black here. Pitch black. There are no visitors, no comrades, no loved ones. I am alone here. And I have not the ears to hear the sonar-rapt callings of the mammoth giants occupying the leagues to either side, beyond either facing. I am floating as if a dead man tumbling softly through space. Deep sea. Deep space. Deep freeze. Deep. I am lost to the deep.
I wonder if my eyes will adjust to the light that surely must be seeping in above and now simply escapes me. Will my ears grow sensitive enough to pick up the songs traveling so many light years to greet me, to lull and to rouse me? Will my heart suddenly clamber for the air above, will it push my muscles into swimming? Will I return or lose myself forever to this black underworld.
Will you come for me? I hope so. Then I hope not. Then I hope so again. And it continues like this as it has continued since the beginning.
I am no scientist. I am no faithful mystic. But something is here. Perhaps my eyes have indeed begun to change and perhaps my ears have indeed morphed for something is here. I have floated as if lying still for so long that just when my heart would have imploded from loneliness, my mind twisted beyond repair from fear I have noticed it. Is it the leviathan come to collect? Is it your face shining from the distance?
Here, in my middle. Here in the center of this cavity of wonder and hope and hopelessness, a seed has sprouted bright blue and eery. It weaves through and up and out from me. It has a hum and I can almost make out a voice there. It is nearly too much for me to hold. And now I see them. Slowly, as if spirits revealing themselves in a graveyard, they arrive. With strings of soul and love winding in and out of them like flocks of lost fireflies. Vivid blue memory, flourescent green hope, fuscia dreaming. And from us all arises a song in a mode unheard of above.
We are the angels of the deep and we make our own light. We are the light-bearers and the unified. In our lonliness springs eternity and in our union lives a single, simple hope. We, all of us speak different languages but for this one word and we, all of us are strangers to each other but for this one tie that binds us. It is a word we cannot speak, we cannot write, but which is written in the sparkle of the eye, in the freckle on your toe, in the green flash of the sunset, in the blue sheen of my floating heart alive in the blackness.