Cousins took me in as a newly separated husband.
A normal thing for them but for me family life was a tattered coat that kept me
sheltered for thirteen months while I floated in non-human space they knew
nothing about. Every morning I wrote feverishly from four to seven. I
downloaded a cosmic drama that included everybody but in my case the layers of
mental and emotional veils were fraying away and leaving me with a cold cosmic
breeze blowing into my life every moment. I got along in my personal world,
sounding normal, cooking when my turn came around, trekking in the state park,
letting my cousin show me off to lonely women, who for me were sad pieces of
cardboard. I watched TV and felt the weight of cosmic energy continually
pushing against these protective activities. And the mornings. I separated more
from earthplanet, as I began to call it, and became more identified with the higher
plane of existence into which I was hoisted and gradually returned from but not
without leaving more tears in the already tattered garments that I had been
shedding for years. Eternity is ancient beyond ancient, and I was spending more
time where real events happened, events out of which universes and cosmoses on
end derived their energy. There never was a beginning, nor will there be an
end; yet in this dimension of the cosmic string, as I called it, the one cosmic
being took note. Now I was in for it. Madness was a distinct possibility, but
it was too late. I was in it for the long haul. No turning back because there
was nothing there which had not always been part of the big picture. Everything
was cosmic.
