The whistling in my ears slowly gets louder and sounds almost musical. Like a ballad of the wind, light and whimsical and teasing. Peaceful and drifting. I can feel myself flowing with it, my consciousness following it along an unknown path. The crying of ancient sirens forlornly trying to reach the world of the living with their voices, never to be recognized. The gentle whisper of promises to be kept. I can see the chords of the wind flowing out in colors I don't know the names of. To a chamber, made of wind and sound and beauty itself. There I drifted in and saw an apparition. A woman of unimaginable beauty, made of wispy threads of colored wind thrown against an image that is itself invisible. She smiles at me and the wind echoes it. She speaks to me and the voice is the song of the wind itself in my ears. She takes a slow step toward me and tilts her head as if in question. It looks as though she is moving through paint dripping sideways across her bare body. Sliding through it with otherworldly grace and poise but with a mischievous glint in her smile, echoed in her eyes. I go to speak but I have no breathe. I am not breathing but it feels natural. It feels right. Almost as though she can read my thoughts the spirit of the wind's smile takes on a sad tint and she glides close to me in an instant. She shakes her head and the music takes on a discordant tone in my ears and starts to crash and roar in my ears, and it becomes hard to see as blackness closes from the edges of my vision, I feel a faint irritation at not being able to keep it away but it is as if from a separate mind only vaguely connected to mine. Then just as my vision clouds completely to blackness and the screaming in my ears reaches a crescendo I feel her finger tips brush my cheek a sensation both felt by its absence of feeling and tender smoothness, as if cool liquid stone flowing over my cheek without ever actually touching my body, and a voice speaks directly in my mind for the first time in what feels like years, a new and unfamiliar sensation. Calm and soft, whimsical almost intangible but clearly there.
"Your time has not yet come, you have more to do yet. Your rest is not yet come."
And with the words the deepening blackness erupts into stark blinding painful white and a fresh breathe is pulled into my body, fresh and clean and pure in its life giving. With the air my disconnected mind comes crashing back to me and my thoughts are my own again. I feel the presence of the vision sliding away and I reach for it in desperation but with a tinkling laugh in my ears she slides through my outstretched fingers away from my mind and I weep bitterly for her loss. As I regain control of my stricken self I feel a familiar sensation a weightlessness a feeling in my gut. A falling feeling. With curiosity my eyelids slowly slid open of their own accord for what feels like the first time. And the new breathe in my chest drawn what seems like an eternity ago catches at the sight before me.
