“Just
breath,” Robert whispers to himself.
“In....pause....out....in....pause....out.”
He
continues like this for a few minutes, slowly zoning out first the
noise, then the jostling as the car skids and swerves to avoid the
pen and ink. Finally, his mind is completely at peace.
“Now
then,” he says to himself, “Now I'm floating, high above the pen.
I can feel the air around me, feel how it brushes my skin.”
The
hair on his arms and the back of his neck tingle as he feels air
moving around him.
“I'm
lighter than a feather,” he says, “Floating on high. Now, what
can I see?”
He
pictures himself high above, floating, opening his eyes. The first
thing he sees is the top of the pen, moving back and forth on its own
accord. “There's nobody holding the pen,” he says, “It's
writing itself.”
