I float weightless.
It is with a slight motion that I head for the damaged radar antenna. I carry with me a new energy source and a set of tools. To replace the failed component would, according to reliable sources, be a simple procedure. The black sky is endless and I feel excited and focused. I'm coming up to the antenna. I place one foot on the crome pannel and reach out to grip the handle, seizeing it and begin to dig in my bag to find the right tool. I find it and pull, with a slightly too rapid movement, it out of the bag. That's when it happens. A large number of the other stuff I had brought with me falls out. By reflex, I try to grab them. I'm losing footing, my grip slips from the handle and I'm gliding away. In panic I try to get hold of anything that can keep me, but it's too late and I float away into the black space. I close my eyes.
In the black space I floated. The mothership becames smaller and smaller. But after a while I stand on solid ground, and the sky is no longer black. On a stone I stood admiring the view. It seemed infinite. I slid down on a smaller stone, and looked up at the sky. Everything was gliding by slowly and methodically, like a large lava flow on the way down a slope. I jumped up and drifted along for a while. Everything was so fragile and sharp, hard and soft at the same time. Where have I come to. where was I going.
I sit down to understand. I go out on the tundra to get clarity. I move straight into infinity to get peace of mind. I sneak into the darkness to get peace. I hide to find myself and I reflect on the abstract to see the reflection.
It's hard to put down something big and fragile in a box that is too small. To get it done I hack it up, but there are still large pieces that fall on the outside. These are stored, and set in the pantry. They are taken out when it is time to bake the next sourdough loaf. I'm hedding out on the tundra again. In my backpack there's a dough rising. It's exciting, you never know how fast the dough rises and what form it will take. Sometimes it refuses to rise, you look and look under the towel, but nothing happens. Other times it turns into good-sized loaves. I reflect myself in the slices of bread, eat them and let my stomach process.