Our Man In Hiatus – Issue 26

It should be dark; I should be frightened; it is totally white and I am excited. How close are fear and excitement as ideas and sensations; opposites or kissing cousins?

So what do I think with no visual referent available? What is this my fingers are brushing against? I feel a little cold; my face and digital extremities are tingling. So, where am I? Should I be asking how am I? Is that easier to deal with at this time of visual deprivation?

Wow, I’ve never felt so many question marks against my skin and scraping the inside of my throbbing head. There’s a thought sensation rushing up my spine and exploding in my head like a roman candle. A bead of sweat has just tingled its warm path down my left cheek; or is it a tear? I cannot quite figure out which as I feel elated and warm despite the lack of visual stimuli.

Having said this, I immediately imagine a picture of someone I love; in my mind I am with them in a verdant green valley, probably somewhere in Scotland, or north Wales. Freshness strokes my nose and I sniff in the clear, vital air.

My body is losing its weight. Though to say I am floating seems fanciful and not quite accurate to describe how I sense myself as a corporeal entity yet feel as if I am without the burden of physicality. However, those beautiful feelings are receding and my mind becomes the sole arbiter of my immediate condition.

My imagination has hit a wall and grazed its sensibilities; the dry-stone wall is admirable in its skill and its visceral qualities are reintroducing the physical to me and it feels good. I can feel that the stone is wet, hopefully from rain and not an animal that has found relief. I hope this is moss my fingers now play with and this new cold sensation is an autumn frost.

I cannot hear anything immediate, though my mind can recall the lovely sound of a modest and impressive waterfall in its pomp. In amongst this natural whispering, I can discern the voice of someone I love. Their description of what my mind is seeing and feeling enhances my sense of joy.

How close are fear of loss and remembrance of presence? Are they the same or just good bedfellows? Are they indeed opposites?

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