Continuity Dictates

I hold in my hand a small glowing orb. The orb is smooth, and a gentle sort of warm, like a mug of tea or hot cocoa. In the orb, I see great seas, waves sliding calmly up and down a gravel coast, the stones rounded by erosion. The sea turns to stars dotted across a great expanse. Quiet, I hear only my own breath.

I have tried to show the orb to others. They didn’t see anything. Some were bored, changed the subject. Others averted their eyes. I wonder why. It seems to me that this orb contains in it something essential. I wonder why they can’t see that.

I look into the orb once more. The stars are out there. They’re looking at me, eyes full of love and expectation. They want me to dance. So I dance, winding between the stars, each sharing with me their light. How can’t the others see this? How can’t they see the truth? Surely, if anyone else discovered this, they’d be dancing too. Instead, I dance alone, across the expanse, over the sea, swept up by a great gust that carries me on forever, in the palm of my hand.