I see water, very still. More like a lake. And mountains with snow on them. The lake and the mountains irritate me because they look too much like a Calm app scene. Though I’m wary of naming things and chasing them away (I wonder if today, I can be Experiencing instead of Here and Listening), I ask for a change of scenery.

The tall, narrow limestone towers are here now. A wooden raft floats in the river that flows between the karsts, bobbing in place.

This frustrates me because I recognize myself in it: the appearance of motion without going anywhere. But self-critique is not what this place is for.

What tethers the raft to the riverbed?

I look into the water’s depths. No, I am swimming, fully immersed, diving downward to examine the anchor. The raft is not bound by a rope, but by the root system of a lily pad … or thicker, like a stalk of kelp.

My eyes trail up from the bottom of the river to the raft; it isn’t tied at all. It’s the flower at the end of the watery branches swaying under the surface.

Somehow, this makes me feel safe. I fight back down the emotion it kicks up. I love being here, and I don’t know why I resist coming back so much.

The judgment I bring to bear seems poised to slice through the raft’s thick stem, but as soon as I fear it, the threat vanishes. I can open my eyes down here, and breathe as long as I need to. The water is cool on my corneas and more soothing than my own vitreous fluid.

I emerge from below and drag myself up onto the raft. I lie down, facing the sky, feeling the rhythm of the water as I bob back and forth with the raft.

Birds hop along the green shore, a line of small, square, two-dimensional yellow and white ones. Yellow birds, blue sky, green karsts. How different would this feel if I didn’t know colors? Would the birds be Joy and Delight? Would the sky be cool to the touch? Would the mountains synesthetically rill along my skin?

No one else has arrived yet. There’s a tug of longing in my belly, then one of the birds flits on my hand. I almost laugh. Once I begin to examine it, it doesn’t move. It lets me adjust my hand to view it from different angles.

Surprise: the bird isn’t two-dimensional, but rather the visible yellow and white plane of its body floats and shifts within a clear liquid cube.

I don’t like being here by myself, conjuring up whatever I please like some god of this place. That’s not why I come here.

Should I ask for company?

A figure pops up on the other shore. A male in a silk robe that hangs off his arms in long rectangles and thick bands of dark blue at the cuffs. From his head juts a rolling, curved wood toque or bishop’s hat. It looks like the top of a violin.

I try to catch his face.

But he isn’t human after all. He’s a puppet being made to dance in the grass. Bouncing left then bouncing right.

Something or someone is playing with me, but I don’t care. At least I’m not alone anymore. Even if my company is just a person-shaped toy.