Traveling the sinews and cells of a breaking body, the sine waves of thought as nothing more than chemical signals sent from one location to another. A word: spaghettification. A photo in a physics textbook: a body falling toward a black hole, being stretched past comprehensible limits. That is this feeling, here, being unplugged and plugged back in again, at random, consciousness in spurts guiding you, giving you just enough animation to keep you alive, to allow you to do what you need to do to survive. Dilation of time, seconds turning into hours. A smell you don’t recognize. Hearing the sounds you’re making as if they’re coming from a deep and distant tunnel. This is extreme trauma, a body pushed to its limits, and a will to survive that cannot be defeated. When your eyes close, it’s a green field you’re standing in, nearly endless except for the streets at the borders, traffic nothing more than light whooshes and faint movements. Morning dew still clinging to blades of grass, and warm sunlight like childhood playground days in the summer. When you open them again, it’s your own blood all around you, more of it pooling inside you, and a burst of pain in your spine like liquefaction of sense. It’s a pure animal fear, lizard-brained, all higher functions suspended for the time being. Are we all just light trapped inside a cage of skin and bone, glimpses of a limitless form only ever temporarily shining past animal wants and needs? It’s nothing but sines now, all coming through in waves, and this is not the day that you die. This is the day that you defy the odds and live. Because you are more than this cage of skin and bone, even if you need to put it to use to save the light. And when that’s done, anything can be done. So you get to your feet, through agonizing pain and the cold flush of lost blood. You find that the pain can only reach a certain height. Maybe we’re all just sines in the dark, endless arcs, rising and falling, forever, in the ever-dark of space, becoming other things after this life, then others still, experiencing love and loss and birth and death, an endless cycle, but this story isn’t quite done yet. So you stand. You walk. You take in breath and call out and taste the cold flower of the air as it dances on your tongue and shows your breath. All we need to do to survive and thrive is find that moment that can provide a firmware update for our soul, and you’ve just found yours. The reason is the reason. So you walk out of the cold and toward the warmth. You keep moving.

2 thoughts on “Sines”

  1. this is so beautiful, i was hooked from the title. It’s the kind of piece where you just sit back and let the words wash over you. I especially enjoyed the wordplay with waves. It was a wonderful pleasure to read.


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