Hello, Reader.

This passage is a continuation of a blog that I never meant to have a second part. When I first wrote about The Void, the idea was contained and completed. I had dumped all of my thoughts on a page and tied a bow around them. I’d said all I need to say.

Or so I thought.

You see, I found myself drawn back to The Void once again, and, this time, without precaution. This time, I found that the moment came suddenly. When I wrote about The Void for the first time, I had been coming to the blackness for months before being able to translate my thoughts and emotions into written word.

Upon returning, it was like coming home. If someone stopped me on the street and told me to describe what it felt like to come home the words would come out easy, and I doubt I would need time to think before telling them exactly how it feels to come home. My description would be filled with words like warm, sacred, safe and welcoming. While I couldn’t use the same words to describe The Void, the words did come just as easily upon my most recent visit.

Let me bounce back to how I stumbled upon The Void again. I found myself in a noisy basement, within the bowels and intestines of a building suitable to hold well over 50,000 people at any given time. This building is the home of the window in which I first found The Void, which may come to be necessary detail later on. It may not, though, so please don’t get your hopes up nor raise any expectations.

I stumbled upon a second window, a much smaller window than the first. When I discovered this new window, I saw nothing but my own reflection and the reflection of the room behind me. Then, as I approached, I caught glimpses of The Void in the shadows within the reflection, or in dark patches of metal where the true blackness beyond the window could shine through. I didn’t realize immediately that I’d found The Void again, but I know now that the familiar feeling, the one that feels like a different-coming-home sort of feeling, had begun to edge its way from my stomach to my brain.

As I got closer, I stared into my own eyes. My pupils, mirrored on the window pane, showed black, and by pushing my nose against the glass, I could see through them. I could see through my own eyes into The Void.

And it came. The sense of familiar cold. I hadn’t realized just how hot I’d been in that basement until just that moment.  I could feel the cool sensation of night-air chilled glass against my forehead before I made contact. The weightlessness came next. By staring off into infinite black, I felt all the stress and worry and weight of my life lift off, not slowly, but in an instant.

I felt free, and there’s really no other word for it. The feeling was amplified only by the fact that I had not expected to encounter The Void again. It came, and at a moment when I needed it. It came when it was the furthest thought from my mind. I didn’t have purpose to look into The Void again, but I reaped the benefits regardless.

Thanks for exploring The Void with me, Reader. If you haven’t found it already, there is a hyperlink to the original post, The Void, in the first paragraph of this post. It’s been just over a year since I found the words to share this with you in that, and I can’t thank you enough for helping me keep this project going.

Until next time.