The Mist of Not Knowing

Sometimes all of this shimmers on the edge of being a world. It emerges out of the mists of my existence edge-on. As though all I need to do is, somehow, turn it towards me and I will have a world again.

There is no time here. There is no space.

All I have is this white mist that surrounds me like… like a fog. There is no direction, no way to move. I can move my body, but the mist doesn’t alter or change. I can’t tell if I am walking somewhere, or just moving in place. I can turn and turn aga...