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An Empty Space

What grace and amenity can be won but for the obscurity of hope in an obscene world? The flight of birds racing across a dull sky, their songs the only praise lifted up to the Divine. I sat and wondered beneath the outstretched arms of two great trees, playing with a bowl of acorns, their tiny caps seeming to top of their happy faces to me.

I was brewing acorn tea from the pot of an old Christmas tree stand, turning the pins as though controlling the handles of an oven. Sitting on the ground hidden behind massive trunks, I leaned against the bark and scraped the soil with my tiny hands. No thoughts, no emotions running through me, just the sounds of the whippoorwill off in the distance, the strutting of doves pacing in the sand, their necks bobbing to and fro as they danced and courted one another. There just down the hill was the bleating of goats, as they stuck their heads through the fence and nibbled on every blade of grass, looking so fleetingly scrumptious from the other side.

The world was alive and well and then it stopped, instantly suspended for an indescribable moment of weightless nothingness. I imagine that I am frozen. As the world around me stops and I am no longer there but in the darkness of my own mind, an empty void of no pain, no sound, and no light. Only I am there, a spirit of ether aimless and without form, I am one with the void, it is perfect Silence.

Black fades away and Light replaces that which was. Sounds return and the birds are nearer now, just over my head unalarmed by my stillness. There is the odd sense that I have come back again, returned to the world of physical senses. The sod is wet and lovely to behold upon my fingers, the little acorns happy to be in their pot and the smell of rock and dirt as sumptuous and comforting as the womb.

The enhancement is but for a moment and all returns to as it was, mundane and normal in all their qualities. Grace is not found in an offensive world that holds no hope, but its abode can be discovered in a moment when time stands still and the darkness of the Void animates all things within the light of their own existence.

I blinked and the moment was gone. I returned to humming my own song, the mockingbird mimicking my sounds of a lonely child raking the dirt with her hands, playing with happy acorns, their caps plucked off of their sweet little heads.