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There is a kind of stunned silence, one that is profound and heavy and has a cacaphony all it's own, full of the immortal absence of noises and echoes of quiet.
There is a dearth of sights in the absolute darkness and a flurry of movement without light, heat and wind to mark it's passage, encompasing, reaching deep and filling all corners that light never knew to be.
There is a lack of scent, almost as sterile and flat as the inside of a vacuum, as the eternal and expansive vastness of space, a flowing numbness of taste and smell and all enticements.
There is a painful lack of pressure, as lacking in warmth as of cold, neutral sense of inside or out, beyond the expressions of tactility and movement, of the physical, of the mental, of the spiritual, of all the mind and meat in between and the simple surity of touch.
And in all these things, these feelings, these worrisome churnings of the gut and soul, I find myself after reading this most recent passage.
Little smith, you indeed have strong springy legs. To be able to bring us so far and show us the joys and sorrows with such precision and patience and patent understanding of those things that make us all tick.
Keep at it, my friend. You've got many tales to tell in you yet, and this one is probably far from the best. Simply, verily, truly awesome.
It's not the wolf you see you should fear, but all the ones he howls with. Don't be afraid of the song, but don't piss off the choir.
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Re: Oh boy. JHS pt2 ch5 
You did good 
