Meaning in the Mundane {36}: Excerpt 1

So I’m dropping you into something with no context because frankly, it hasn’t been written yet. It’s a story that, apparently, is revealing itself to me in little dribs and drabs and since I’m in no way a fiction writer, it’s slow. But it’s taken me three hours to write, like, 200 words, so that’s my post for the night, dammit.

Spaceweb. It’s a thing.

“The stars, the planets,” it said, “are linked together by the threads. Just like everything, everywhere.”

“But how can that be? I don’t see — “

“Exactly. You don’t see.”

I stared hard into that impenetrable darkness, but still — nothing.

It began to say, “Close your eyes,” but I had already done it, squeezing them tight at first, and then, strangely, relaxing into that unfamiliar yet comforting weightlessness. And then — the pattern.

At first subtle, like the phosphenes that radiate their displays as you fall asleep. But then, shifting, straightening, expanding, until I could see the whole thing, a magnificent display of delicate webs, each connecting to each other, a three dimensional structure of intricate lace, of shimmering filigree, dotted with the infinite glimmer of stars. It was bigger, so much bigger than my eyes should have been able to see at once, and layered with the intricacies of the mundane and the incomprehensible magnitude of the cosmos.

And then I opened my eyes, and the webs were still there, shining faintly and moving ever so slightly in a nearly imperceptible cosmic wind. Pulses of iridescent white light and a darkly shining crimson glow flowed through the gossamer strands in a chaotic rhythm — reflections, I knew, of the relationships between endpoints — I was watching as compassion, creation, empathy, cruelty, and destruction moved through planets, galaxies, universes.