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The sensation of the pillow pressed to my face is gone and I am no longer conscious of the position of my body. I am not quite awake, not entirely asleep. The dream begins:



It is a very large room, the massive concrete walls end at the concrete roof just a few feet above my head. A series of silos run the length of the room, a metal grate catwalk connects the tops of each silo. Walking from silo to silo, dodging the ventilation equipment along the way, I inspect the transfer pipes. The room is well lit, the leak should be easy to find.



There it is. It is a three-bolt Morris coupling on a pressure convey line. I radio the mechanic and instruct him to bring a four-bolt coupling, gasket and liner to the top of silo 12. I wait while he gathers the parts and lock-out the blower. I lean against the hand railing that rims the silo.



The railing breaks away. I fall.



Perception of time changes. It continues to pass and I am aware of its passing. Time seems neither faster nor slower, but it seems unimportant. The concept of death comes to me, it is real and it is imminent. There is no fear or concern. There is no question of “why?” There is only the awareness of falling and of the outcome.



My body breaks against the cement floor. No feeling of pain accompanies this. No feeling of any kind. There exists a detached sensation that allows me to perceive that the body is crushed, but the physical, tangible qualities are entirely lacking.



The surroundings have not changed and I have not moved, but the silo room is now something less than real. The world has a separate existence. It is there, I am conscious of it, and yet there are no senses left to communicate with.



Time passes. It could be seconds. It could be centuries. It could be eternity. It no longer has meaning. It is no longer defined.



No regrets, no remorse. Neither a sense of loss nor of achievement. There is the vague idea of having memory, but even that seems to have been more a part of the body than of what remains. What does remain is a sense of being, a concept of self that has not changed.