It’s these brief moments of lucidity that make life worth living. Where every sound, every glint from a shiny surface, every sensation of abrasion, every single element combines together and flows straight into your soul.

It is those few seconds, where everything seems to come together: a Jenga stack before the game has commenced; the Tower of Babel before language becomes alien.

There are no drugs.

No literal smoke or mirrors.

It is the eye of the storm: calm yet loud; peaceful yet ferocious.

The clarity of standing on the edge of the cliff, knowing full well what is to follow, knowing full well that the memory of this very moment in and of itself will perish as well – vaporized to become part of the cloud cover that tries and fails to hide the scorching sun – is matched only by the sudden loss of bearing which finds itself in conflict with the acute awareness of your body plunging into nothingness.

This is the thrust.

This is the ‘kick‘ — that moment when your soul collides with your physical body and fuses to become one again.

But that fraction of a moment before you begin to rapidly sink? That instant that stretches in ethereal time and space over the span of your entire existence? That door to an alternate reality which you refuse to believe is a veracious reflection of your own life? When your soul deceives your mind and body and struggles so hard to betray, to escape, to be free?

That is the moment to live for.

Amidst the ghastly cacophony of sounds that no one else can hear clamoring about your mind while your eyelids droop lower and lower and you exhibit a deceptive outwardly appearance of serenity, you realize that you are finally alive.

Welcome, to Lucy Lucidity.

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