not unlike blake, james elaine

1st day.

Compassionate looking back at all the times she messed up and forgive yourself. Then forgive oppressors, but first try to remember everything, a hard thing, that just barely starts to lead Swann back from shock. Focusing on light in the evening, letting all dense thoughts pass away, grooving on music that inspires chills of awe. Vows of silence. The cook kept putting tahini more and more into her meals, Swann hated tahini, but let it slide. The second day leftovers are stacking up inside the little room because she's shy about leaving dishes outside. The guide comes in to give instructions, different meditations, calling guardian angels etc., acting oblivious to the mess that Swann has accumulated. Swann noticed her mess, but keeps it, in defiance. That evening Swann saw a line of ants marching in to eat her leftovers. Swann stared at the black dots until they became circles of light overlaid wherever Swann looked. Then within the circles of light Swann could see winged creatures flying up, making shadows. This was a vision not unlike Blake's. Swann found this sense of light inside her body, drying out any rough edges of emotions that were peaked to an edge between laughing and crying. This peak felt on the edge of madness at once then euphoric. Her guide would call this communing with the angelic spheres. Swann cleaned her room. The third day was short. Swann wondered why were her visions so English compared to her European ancestry. Was it being in the old Victorian house? Would she have different visions in Siberia, Mongolia, Pakistan, Spain?

She had become a luminous thing not unlike the single green-sunlit blade of grass, raw and vulnerable. Finally getting the nerve to leave the porch Swann caught a bus where she felt conspicuously electric, The passengers also noticed that Swann was emitting a fine drizzle of light.