The night is clear and moonless. Clouds are scattered around the horizon. Hundreds of unnamed constellations hang in the sky. Thoughts reverberate as endless as the sky. The wind is ice and needles against your face and un- gloved hands. That’s when you wonder if there are any words to describe that feeling. You draw a blank. Because words are placeholders and under different conditions the feeling would be different. You look up, again, to the sky perhaps for answers. The trees won’t say a word tonight. Maybe your naming of experiences is what’s keeping you at arms length. Up until this point you assumed you were a point of light, plotted in the sky, and everything else is another point in relation to you. Everything pulsates, everything all at once, and you could’ve been a part of that had you not been so focused on identifying, naming, and describing from your individual perspective. Thinking that maybe these things you were. Though all of which you are not. You are not even an individual. And just like a flash the feeling that you could reference and identify with the world in a completely different way is gone and somehow you’d made your way back home.