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In the quiet, a hum begins,
Low, high-pitched, throbbing,
A sci-fi echo, spreading,
A vibration on the edge of perception.

Movement, not through space,
But a transport, a falling,
Yet not down, but towards something,
An elusive somewhere.

The world, a sponge,
I, not growing, but spreading,
Like water soaking into fibers,
Barriers dissolving, boundaries fading.

Moments of terror, feelings of grace,
Artistic sensations, a creative embrace,
Experiencing the act of creation,
And the state of being created.

Connections between ideas emerge,
Apparent, obvious, yet novel,
Shared in dialogue, unexpectedly,
A web of thoughts, interwoven.

Laying down, everything shifts,
The world remains, yet different,
A sense of presence, embodied,
No person, yet an existence persists.

Hi all!

My 1st Journey is coming up in a few days. Reading up on others' experiences.