Empty Yourself. Let Go.

The window contains no glass, no frame. It is just an opening to blue over the undulating green foothills. The light in the room is spun gold, stirring. As soon as I look to the window, I'm upright in front of it. I know my body is still on the bed. The raven beckons me to the window and I see now that it holds a red balloon by a string. I am meant to take it so I do.

"Empty yourself," the words are inside of my head. "Let go."

I do. The balloon rises until it's a red dot disappearing over Grizzly Peak.

This was the assignment, Summer, 1991.