post-meditated

When I open my eyes afterwards, the world is washed in a metallic cyan. I'm that sleepy kind of alert which you feel after sharing skin with another person. I can hear the world with immense clarity: the silence of empty space amongst the gentle wave-like crash of cars, the creaking of swings holding small bodies in the playground next door. The surface of me is breath-held still against the bright white air. Blood and atoms are rushing through my insides. I am an Arctic stillness with a powerful undercurrent. I am potential and possibility. I am with only myself, and myself is embedded in the world.