Sometimes there are so many floaties in my eyes, I feel like a kaleidoscope. I tip my head from left to right to shift the pattern.

I am a little obsessed with this.
It’s rarely so easy to break a pattern and start a new one.

The other night, I closed my eyes. It was as if a dark theater curtain had dropped and a spotlight appeared, and I saw a face as clear as if I had been looking with my own two eyes wide open. I didn’t know her, but she was a glorious glitch. She was beautiful.

Normally, I am someone who can not see any images in my mind. For a very, very long time, I thought this was everyone’s experience. Can you imagine? When you say “Think of a pink elephant”, some people can actually, in their mind’s eye, see a pink elephant.

I love that.
It’s rarely so easy to make something real out of an idea.

In my room, there is a small clay container. So small, I can tuck it in the palm of my hand. Though categorically a bowl, it is so shallow, it is almost a plate. The inside is painted a vivid blue, and it is filled with a teaspoon of surreal green glitter.

When I am feeling overwhelmed, my eyes fill with floaties and I love then especially to look at this little bowl. I turn my head side to side. I kaleidoscope. The floaties swarm the glitter, sift it, and carry it into the blue. The clay sits heavy and flat in my palm like a skipping stone that bounced along and landed in me.

The woman painted on my eyelids wore all those colors and glimmers. I didn’t know her, but I knew that glittered green, that clay-sunk blue.

One of the mysteries of life is how familiar the mysteries are, how surprising the expected.

She looked so familiar, I almost waved, and when my arm moved, I was like a kaleidoscope that had shifted the frame.

She disappeared.