The Butterfly by Phil Seth
My past two floats, I was concentrated on breathing alone, and this time I was trying to envision something spectacular. I think I spent the majority of the time trying to surrender my expectations. Grey and black auras faded across my vision with a faint hint of TV static.
There is no time for impatience in an infinite place. Then my body hits a point where I can’t feel anything but my face, as if to say, I got this from here. I feel as if I have floated passed the edge of the galaxy where there is nothing but my face and toes peeking out, and the real darkness washes over me.
Slowly a golden butterfly appears feverishly flapping it’s wings in what I assumed was a vacuum in vast emptiness of space, alone in the darkness.
Where does he think he’s going?
I realized in this amazing state I was still gripping the handle too tight and this was something I could not control. Then with one mighty exhale I let go. I hear sea gulls in the distance. I began to travel horizon over horizon. Like a wet painting of a galaxy flipped over and the splatters created new ones. Figurines of ballet like dancers twirl in concert with this cosmic catastrophe, splashing stars in their wake.
Up Next: Levity Presents: Dylan Davis