I'm being cradled. Orbs of light or chains, I can never tell. Held up against a blackness so complete in it's expanse that my chest weeps against it's cavity. I am extraordinary in my nothingness. A star as bleak as any other. Dimmed by the distance between my speckishness and the nearest reflection of fire. Orbiting, or being orbited?, until the pull began. A gravity amid the vacuum, a weightless release, and then a plummet.
I fell through voices pleading, begging, wailing, laughing, longing, singing. I fell through the warm wet of blood spilling from open hearts. I fell through sorrow and joy and loss and infinity. Each dimension bathed me in a new fire, each it's own unique spectrum of itself. A concept of eternity began to form in me and I thought surely I must be in it. But contrary to infinity, the falling quietly stopped. There was no jolt of impact or crash of pain and fear, just a ceasing. I lay perfectly still, feeling the forgotten, neglected pieces of my body breathing and pulling themselves together. Then a voice.
I stepped into the light and they gasped with the immediacy of my unexpected presence. The glory of the sun and stars rolled into me and turned the innocuousness away like pulling cobwebs back. And there I was. Smashed porcelain welded back together with white iron, a mask of each tiny emotion that trickled through the former rivulets to shine through. They cowered then in a vision they could not undo or ignore. I was more than they knew, I was more than I ought to have been, I was reflecting a chorus of secret prayers.