On Tuesday they took my body away from me. I giggled and rose like
air from a deflating balloon. I spread my non-arms and yawned. Blinked.
So many colors, smells, sights, new colors with no names for them. But
they didn't need names. Wednesday was orientation day. At last the door
was opened and I was given a new dress. I laughed. And cried. That's all
I could do. I was in a one-shouldered, sparkling dress that couldn't be
called green or blue, but some new color. And I had hair like a greek
goddess. "Welcome." I'm still crying. Admiring the glittering walls to
my left that reach up, up, up, so high that I can't see where they end.
The impossibility of it. The beauty. I could have done more. And all of
the sudden I am on a shore. A rocky shore. A windy shore. The water is
purple and gray and cream and splashing against the crags I sit on.
"Lovely isn't it." I reply without speaking. No human words for it. I
know. That's why there's no words here. The sea crashes up and over me.
What do you want to do next? Without answering I am under a tree, reading
and sipping tea. I am on a hill under red sunset. I am floating on
Saturn's rings. I am back on that rocky shore. I am staring at that
unending wall, up, up, up, into more white light. I am watching Mom sleep.
I am playing chess in a café with my grandmother. How do you feel about
this? It's weird to adapt to. It's crazy. Of course it is. This is
eternity. No time for traveling. Thought is movement. Dream reality. I
like it here. Well of course you do. That's why it's heaven.