Imagine yourself moving within your own body. You leave the consciousness of your skin and of your face. From your favorite spot behind the eyes you slide down, past the jaw into the gullet.
You are squeezed tight by the undulation of the slippery sides. It is dark,
you feel about you; just once in a while you see something shimmer. But as you
go on you become more sensitive to the subtle impressions of the inner space
and it isn't long before you see without light.
In the stomach your size diminishes under the influence of the acid. You mix
with the gastric juices and then you slip through the circular muscle that allows
entrance to the intestines. Once there, you are slowly absorbed by the blood.
You travel through the veins. Through the blood cell's transparant membrane you notice other veins branch off. To the left and right you see bloodcells speeding past you. Then a dark, purple organ looms up that consumes you, and only after careful filtering separates you off.
You see other organs, strangely shaped and unrecognizable. Arteries stretch
out endlessly, with an infinite number of side branches. Sometimes you catch
a glimpse of the bluish white of cartilage or bone, sometimes you feel ribbed
muscle tissue. Then you carefully thread your way along an enormous smooth bone,
careful not to tear the delicate web of nerve tissue, grazing the underside
of the skin.
Only fragments get through to you, much remains in darkness. The fragments
are too small to interpret. You only feel their character: something spinous,
a hard rounded thing, a thin, chalky tube. As you loose your orientation, the
fragments seem to approach you at increasing speed, and the impact with which
they hit you is unexpected and hard.
You are a stranger here.
Every sense of direction dissolves, every reference to where you might be fails.
It's not long before you are lost in an endless purple darkness.