The glass of water stumbled onto the stove and spewing all of it's innards on the floor, it splashed my feet. It was cold. Pieces of ice everywhere, some melting away on the stove-top which had been used minutes before to cook up our mid-night dinners. I'm in another dimension. I'm thirsty, I fucking spilled the damn water.
Everything is vibrating and I can feel the universe's energies flow through me, but I spilled this glass of water, ending perfection for some seconds. And this seconds of imperfection are to horrid to explain. And at the moment a far away pebble falls of a mountain top in Nepal re-structured to be perceived in my body as a certain special sway of my hip or to cause a needle-point poke on my left nostril, I understood everything. Understood that I should be joyful for having been able to spill that water onto my feet, I am blessed to be able to drink water. So I smiled. Next time I spill a glass of water because of my clumsy nature, I shall pray and be thankful. I can feel every vibration of the universe in every pore that clothes my hands with skin. I can hold the universe in one of my curls. I can spill glasses of water and feel it bathe me. I'm in heaven.