On the temple’s hillside, candlelit abodes sat on the steps. It was an onyx winter, the galaxy breathing coldly. My blistered feet met the warm marble. The space was sunlit but without a source. The temple was walled with glass, revealing distant stars. The floor shone with orange and green marblework. My mind suddenly stilled. The present stretched infinitely, until it was all I could see. The past and future were now planets away. Every thought a shooting star that illuminated my consciousness.
It was daybreak. Outside, shopkeepers opened their markets. Distant stirring of pans, wheels, and early conversations. Yet, pressing my ear to the glass, I could hear the cobblestone’s pattern beneath the rolling carts. Then, a sudden downpour. Thunder clapped. Colorful winds raged, unearthing prisms from the glass. People took shelter and fled home. I turned to the other side. With each step, the storm softened. In the center of the room, it was silent. I had walked only minutes, but now it was a deep afternoon. The window shattered the sunlight into rainbows. The town bustled: children weaved through the crowds, businessmen wore dark suits, and workers bowed under mango baskets.
My feet tingled as the mountain awoke. I sat down cross-legged and now heard the whispering of oceans, rustling of rainforests, of distant tribal drums. Overwhelmed, with tears, I closed my eyes and my vision bloomed. I was a point accelerating on the universe’s timeline, the past and future colliding into one another. Then, it was black. It was a special type of blackness, one you can’t see by closing your eyes. On my wrist I felt the waxy heat of candlelit abodes. My feet crawled with pedestrians and carts. In my head, a warmth as someone stepped inside.