High and low, thrumming, echoing, tinkling.
Floating, lightly, in a dark abyss.
The soothing waves calm everything down into a rhythmic sea of gently controlled ups and downs, and as the current gets softer and softer, the pull into the center of the swirls of whirlpools gets stronger by the second.
It’s so soft now, close your eyes to feel it. The tingle upon your spine and the rise of hair at the nape.
Slowly, achingly slowly, it rises, then falls again, until it is but a mere whisper. Murmurs in your ear, inky, darkly treacherous whispers drawn out into the night.
It turns slowly into a baritone gale that sweeps you off your feet, turning, reaching higher and higher, reality a thousand miles away. Alone, icy, but never afraid, you feel a hairs-breath away from the scatter of tiny scintillating suns, shining, burning pin-pricks of light and warmth into your skin, and you reach out to touch one with a finger…
Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything. – Plato