Focus on the Water

A sweeping organ sound creeps in from all sides, filling the room with something undefinable yet comforting in its way. It's a warm, inviting sound that hints at spaces far beyond what we know. Comprehension is impossible because there is nothing to comprehend.

Strings fade in and swell as a bass line drones beneath it all. It's as though a fog is being lifted to reveal many hidden colors. Movement is unhurried, like walking in slow motion, absorbing every surrounding sensation as it passes.

There is purpose in this even as the purpose is unclear. There is a destination, although it is not easy to find or reach.

The experience of moving through fog feels familiar. It's disorienting but not troublesome. There is knowledge that something lies at the end. Gravity pulls everything forward.

A chorus of children sings a simple, haunting melody. The voices sound like more strings, blending with the others before fading back into nothing.

Minimal drops of piano notes create an ethereal texture as the strings begin to pulsate. Counterpoint emerges. It's a slow tide, moving first one way and then the other.

We walk along the beach, watching the water recede, revealing tiny animals that dwell in the sand. There is no need to hurry. Everything was here before us, and so it shall be after we are gone.

The children sing again and then disappear, leaving only echoes, which echo the footprints of those who walk along the beach. Water surrounds us, providing comfort.

The world fades away, moving further into space, separating from other bodies around it. Such is the nature of an expanding universe. Everything is running away from everything else.

Where will it end? When will it end? Who will know such things?

Focus on the water. Keep breathing, then eventually stop.