36 | Psychopomp Magazine
sulfurous as potato fields treated against blight, and the oceans billow into vast methane waves that freeze in crystal bubbles, shattering at mid-day in millions of brilliant blue-green shards.
Was it foam of that distant sea that flecked our eyelashes, beards, and earlobes? Or did those tiny glassy globes bloom into translucent pollen that took root in our grey matter?
We can only with great reluctance submit to chronological narrative and retreat from those visionary revelations to focus again on the gradual unveiling of knowledge to our consciousness.
Beneath the scrutiny of her magnifying glass and the strong light of her father’s examining lamp, Morgan started with alarm and awe when she saw reflecting threads emanated from the Handle and spread out in barely visible diaphanous strands in all directions.
When her sister entered the room—impatient Phoebe had borrowed the handle for a quick caress when it entered the Carroway household—Morgan frowned to see that Phoebe’s ears had silky strands of similar fibrous material sparkling in swirls, some of that extended to the Handle.
Morgan discerned gossamer threads appeared to have reached her own ears and drifted down the hall towards her parents. Why this did not make her scream, you may well wonder, but Morgan had already grown attuned to the higher frequencies of our expanding consciousness.
Nor did this crystalline growth end there in the Carroway household.
As Morgan raced around town to inspect each one of us, she found in every case that it was as if ballooning spiders had enmeshed the town in translucent tendrils. Only because Morgan was so enterprising with her magnifying glass, and then her father’s microscope, did we get to know something of this strangeness that spun around us in a crystalline cocoon.
When Dr. Carroway wasn’t puzzling over the Handle, we passed its mystery among us.