Perpetually Falling

   The preparations have no beginning or end, only an infinite timeline of readiness. My soul prepares again and again. Sometimes short and sometimes long, one must travel until the room appears. For not a one of us is there a path or a plan, only a vaguely intuitive notion of how one is to get there, never where it will be found.  I don’t move there, or take on an animation of body to arrive there. My arms lay gently by my sides, my mouth and eyes relaxed in a way rarely experience by anyone outside of actual death. The skill required for the journey and mission is our connection with death as a living being. I exist now and forever just as I am now. There is no attraction in my soul to the finite world of flesh. We always are and will always be as untouchable as the mist outside my room and just as visible and effective. I give life the way the mist gives ambiance. The life given is our gift, as death is our life.