Transient mind
The dust stirred only a little, every breath drawn was completely silent, so that I could not even really be said whether or not I had been breathing at all. The amber waves of sun flooded and receded in an unpredictable pattern,like an irregular pulse, or something else all together. Perhaps it was something more than that, not the workings of a singular change, but rather, that everything around me was evolving in its own unique rhythm. The light was but a symptom of the transformations going on around me. Shapes remained but things looked different, seemed to have meaning, outside their individual existence. Working in concert, they conspired to confuse my very notions of reality. Nothing escaped the grasp of the ethereal light, and so nothing remained the same. In such a transitory place, it is hard to have a point of reference. Things cannot be compared or described, because they are not constant. One would, it seems, begin to loose touch with the ideas of labeling, understanding, or synthesizing sights and events. Things can only be known by the reality of their being observed. I cannot related what I see, and my descirptions of what I experience are vague. This is because everything has such a fluidity as to render me unable to concretely describe it. Shapes continue to shift, to change, to become lesser or greater forms. I can sense growing and shriking, of sinister qualities and of serenity. But I could not rightly articulated these distinctions, characteristics bled into one another, until experience finally, comes to a halt. Everything is cemented into on continous, inseparable block, and yet, thought and emotion intermingle and create a dynamically uncertain whole. The amber light has since become sickly green, and forms still drift and mutate, but things cannot stay pleasant for long.