It is one quicksilver fleeting moment. Gone in a flash containing every piece of information there is in the world; But remnants emerge from the cloud of smoke that remains in the place of something, and they form a pattern, and then a narrative, and an idea.
If you've ever stared at an RGB white led, then shaken your head quickly you would get sort of an idea. For a moment you see the individual red, green, and blue LEDs firing off their respected color. Then in an instant, its gone. Back to the illusion, or rather the code gets adjusted back into place.
From that depth I emerged. With a thousand silver streaks tracing the contours of my mind. Forever being awoken to the constant language of the world around me and overwhelmed by it's complexity. Just barley grafting by my periphery were glimpses of the fabric of meaning we all weave in and out of existence. It was so dark, but with rich substance and texture. I was not the only inhabitant of this space. It was for a startling revelation to finally come to the realization that those were not itches... they were bites. And so the war begun.
It seemed never to end. Like there was no point. It tested every last bit of my strength and I still don't know how I made it this far. Because the war is over and I survived. I am no longer punctuating with a semi-colon but writing the next sentence. And a wonderful calm washes over me, and at the same time: Anxiety. A natural reaction to a wounded psyche. Adjustments are hard but with the right approach they can be minimized. And with patience, the hunter extracts it's prey. Knowledge is like food, once you consume it, it becomes a part of you.