I was around six years old when it first happened. I awoke to the light next to my bed that was so bright that it covered everything else. A light that was white, and silver and gold, and neon pink and green and black, all at the same time. A light that was at once feminine and masculine. My cream with pink rosette curtains that matched the bedspread which I picked out especially from the JC Penny catalog fluttered in the breeze of the warm summer night. We floated out through them and straight up to the star-studded sky.
Everything was black and there were no more stars and no more up or down or anything at all until I realized I was sitting on the tip of a white laser beam of lite that went on for infinity. The light being was no longer there, but it told me to stand up and take a step. I was too young to be reluctant, and I did and I was surprised that the line stretched to meet my foot as it came down.
It shared this knowledge:
Everything is contained in this single beam of light. Everything. You can drop in at any point in the line you choose at any time. It only appears to be a straight line stretched to infinity, but it’s actually the tiniest speck, actually so small that it barely exists. You can’t see this from down there because to only way to really see it is to look at it straight on, which hardly anyone does. And then I stood in front of it and let it beam entirety into my soul. I became everything, and all of the iterations of everything.
I stayed staring into this beam for some time and when I reached the end, the part where I began, I came back to earth and into my body through a drop of water falling into the bathtub where my six-year-old self-body was getting cream rinse applied to her hair.