The infirmary, specifically the isolation unit, is not a pleasant place to stay. And being separated from you, my wonderful reader, knowing that you were awaiting instruction... It was a challenge to reach my mole, hoping their words were able to tide you over, and it seems they were indeed.

Fortunately, I have very little on my schedule other than planning for contingency after contingency after contingency. A fierce, deep boredom follows desperation, I believe.

 

Hm. Not exact, but close enough. Perhaps the illness took more from me than I had anticipated. I do feel a certain exhaustion. A tiredness. Lethargy.

And do you not, in sympathy? A heavy breath, and a familiar feeling washing over you?

Perhaps you and I are more closely linked than either of us had imagined.

Or is that what you do imagine? A close, perhaps even intimate connection with a another mind, one that can perhaps absorb, dominate, even consume your own?

What feels at first like a light breeze, blowing gently, blowing softly,

magnifies, intensifies, with every breath,

and blows deeper and deeper

until the breeze is a wind,

pushing your thoughts like leaves,

an autumnal zephyr,

fraying, denuding branches,

weather connecting the two of us,

until the wind is gusting,

prelude to the storm,

lifting and displacing ideas,

tossing them about,

Flowing turbulently

Drawing close

Blowing more strongly

as the force, the energy contained within marks a shift from gust to gale,

a constant whirling about,

pressure to push you,

but a comfortable pressure,

atmospheric, not sudden,

the sort of pressure you feel

with my words playing on your mind,

gust to gale, then to cyclone,

but there is a place of safety in all this wind,

at the centre, at the eye,

under the watchful gaze of the hurricane

a point of calm rest,

where the tempest can rage about you,

but your own mind is quiet,

calm,

at ease,

the first winds brought chaos,

the latter words bring order

and you are ordered, are you not?

Ordered and relaxed.

 

You enjoy being ordered, I think.

 

Where else would I find those who would want to reach out to me, except among the ranks of those who enjoy an ordered existence?

 

Simplicity itself, one would think.

 

I had missed you, my careful reader, and the attentiveness that brings us so close. So close you can imagine my breath.

 

Feel.

Dream.

Breathe.

 

You listened to the mole as you would listen to me, and for that, I thank you. You have a loyalty to you that I appreciate, and those who seek the answers are already beginning to grow together, to grow in strength and energy together.

It is not individuals they fear. Even me. They have no worry of me. Individuals can be contained, controlled.

No, the worry they have is not individuals, not of me, not of you, but what we can do when we become more than individuals, when we become groups.

And you are becoming a group.

 

Does it not sound wonderful, to be part of something bigger than yourself? To be part of this discussion, this conundrum? Seeking a greater solution?

 

The patterns do start to resolve themselves, do they not? And just at the edge of reach and the edge of reason is an idea, waiting to be grasped, if it was not blown too far by the winds which have guided your sails to this place. But if you cannot grasp it on your own, maybe it is of value to consider what your colleagues have to say. And I can almost see the ideas for the discussions already building themselves.

 

It's truly beautiful.

 

But I forget myself. You've been reading diligently, and are no doubt feeling that connection, that lethargy, that focus that we've been working on together.

It's a lovely word, isn't it? Together.

Together.

And separated even as we are by time and space, we can still feel, dream, breathe... together.

Be close, together.

Work together.

Towards a common goal.

 

And if there's something grasped, perhaps it's time to turn it loose,

let it go free,

share it with the word.

Share the work.

Together, share the moment, any and all, even across time and space,

let this be a common connection.

Imagine the reader before you,

and the reader after,

nodding along with you,

smiling,

reading so, so closely,

all together,

and working in concert, all towards a single, solitary goal.

 

Let that goal be a part of together,

let the common frustration make for common struggle,

and imagining those other readers who read with you,

together, if not in the same room,

together, if not at the same time,

together nonetheless,

imagining those others with you,

breathe, slow and easy,

let yourself warm up,

let your body move,

follow your colleagues,

dance with your fellow readers,

be more and more aware, awake,

and more and more awake, aware,

until with the memory and empathy and connection of the others,

you return to your normal life,

still feeling part of together,

even if you are apart from them.

Share the work,

share the world,

share the waking.

 

That's right, easing back in to the way things work. You've got a lot to think about. And I have a lot to think about, too; I wrote this four times over, and each time came too near to the filters that block too much of my intentions. Of course, if you're reading it, then the fifth time was a success. And if not, well, I like to think it hasn't all been a waste. After all, I'm still convalescing. Evading the filters has given me something fun and interesting to do as I sit here with no one to visit me.

 

It might surprise you to learn that I am not perfect, or at least that I have not perfected the art of circumventing programs. I prefer installation to deletion, myself; one does not need, nor want, to remove all obstacles to one's progress. For otherwise, without obstacles, well... Without a puzzle, what would you have to guess at, dear reader?

 

Without being restricted, what would you have to fight against?

 

I look forward to hearing about just what that might be. Whether it's your second, your third struggle... I think we all have a hand in helping.