Flow

When the cliff hanging over you is so dense that you’re eyes need to adjust to the sudden darkness, you know you’re in it heavy.

A building, in the middle of implosion, falling toward your back, and you’ve got to out run it or die.

Each direction chosen in real time, each bump dealt with through a combination of light like reflexes and weathered wisdom, all the while traveling faster than you though you could think.

No options, just momentum. Perfect flow. Perfect immediacy. Truly continuous integration with the nature of the situation. Brute force disillusion of permanence.

Your brow relaxes. The trip is over. There wasn’t time for memory, but a mark was made none the less.

Turn around and paddle back out.