There was a man who awoke one morning with no pain—no ticking, hidden agitation that so often plagues the human mind.

He arose from his bed and walked to the window. The flowers outside shimmered with an effervescent light and wore a gossamer bloom.

He noticed the absence of fighting faces inside of his mind—the lack of frayed notions competing for a piece of the pie.

He walked to the kitchen and prepared a glass of water.

The light from the window pierced the negative space within the glass, and there, he saw it: a place within the water.

He said to himself,

“This here is the point that all seek. This is the place in time that all of the tired minds are trying to reach.

There is a moment, a gap in between annoyance and disappointment—a glade within time and space that quenches the universal drought.

Come here, to this point, the stone at the bottom of the sea, where the cracks are made One again and the wails are quelled into an eternal ecstasy.”

He stood for a long moment, looking at this point in his glass, and then chuckled to himself.

“The static will never cease,” he said aloud. “I have been granted an unwarranted reprieve. I shall surely pay for this.”

Then he used the bathroom, dressed for work, and proceeded to put in a ten-hour shift.

He would never remember that morning—

not until the end of his days.