I feel an unfamiliar restlessness in my lower body.
Too long have I been confined to my sickbed; my mind and heart coax me arise and gaze upon the world outside. It is no longer a matter of fighting long-entrenched despair. A power beyond all that is humanly possible -- even in the most extraordinary of circumstances -- seizes hold of atrophy and regenerates what was once officially declared dead. In spite of myself, I arise from my imprisoning bed and, as if it were a completely normal occurrence, glide over to the French doors. I do not touch the handles, yet, in the manner of a dream, both doors open before me.
On the balcony, I gaze upon a magnificence of terrene beauty, so long unobserved, so long forgotten. My mind does not question the why, the wherefore, nor the how. My heart says I must follow whatever direction is put upon me.
I return to my room and look into the full-length mirror. I see only myself, no reflection of the room at all. Tall and erect, I stand as though in vibrant and athletic youth. Now, however, it is as an assured, mature man. Radiant. Smiling. Possessed, so it would seem, by an inner confidence emanating from my every pore.
Behind me I sense a warm and comforting presence. The aura surrounding me does not compete with my inner glow but interplays with it, creating a show of light, not of spectacular brilliance, but of undulating waves of luminescence . . .
I am alive . . . once more. . . .