“We are all very happy that you found us. We are happy you are here.”

Joseph looked and saw that the voice had come from a blue sphere. The sphere rose and fell, like a ball bouncing in slow motion.

“We are happy you are here,” repeated the sphere. The sphere’s words came not only as a sound but as an aura of white light. That light condensed and formed a cluster of three-dimensional cubes. The cubes swarmed around Joseph, enveloped him, and began to spiral like a vortex. The intensity of their spiraling grew until Joseph could no longer distinguish the shape of the cubes; they became a singular thing—a cocoon of light. 

Then the cocoon blinked out of existence, and the only light was the blue glowing of the sphere.

“Was it beautiful, Joseph?” asked the sphere.

Joseph tried to speak, tried to express his confusion and astonishment. His brain thought—What is happening? Where am I?—but the sounds that came from his mouth were unintelligible. 

“Do not worry, Joseph,” said the sphere. “Speaking the truth takes time.”

After this, there was what felt to Joseph like a long period of silence. A silence the likes of which he had never experienced. He could hear the beating of his heart, the blood surging in his ears. Each breath was a roaring gust. 

He tried to refocus his attention, to ignore the horrible silence, and focus on the sphere. The thing’s bouncing persisted, but it was changing somehow; it appeared to be expanding and shrinking simultaneously. The cumulative knowledge of Joseph’s life, the data banked in his brain for thirty-nine years, cried foul over the sheer absurdity, the improbability, the impossibility of this. And yet, despite the dogma of experience and logic, he couldn’t deny that the sphere was, indeed, getting both larger and smaller.

Again, Joseph tried to speak. This time his words took the form of countless flecks of light. They clustered, moved toward the sphere, and began to spiral around it. The flecks of light were absorbed by the sphere. Immediately after this came a thunderous sound of applause and cheering. This jubilant roar came from all directions and shook Joseph’s body with a percussive force.

The din of cheering stopped as abruptly as it had started.

“You have spoken truly, Joseph.”

Where am I? Joseph thought. He opened his mouth and, again, the flecks of light emerged; they rushed at the sphere, spiraled, were absorbed.

“Not a place,” replied the sphere. “Let us show you.” 

The sphere’s bouncing stopped. Joseph suddenly became aware of his surroundings and the empty, abstract nature of his locality. He looked down—or what he perceived to be down—and could not see his body. He held up his hands to examine them but saw nothing.

A plurality of experience began forming in him—a disorienting sensation of being thrust upward and of falling. The perceived speed of this sensation grew; faster and faster he both rose and fell. His perception became that of two separate observers, joined by some manner of telepathy.

“Now do you understand?” 

Joseph looked and the sphere was keeping pace with him, also in plurality.

“Now we are bouncing together,” said the sphere, followed by a sound that resembled laughter. “We find the word ‘time’ very amusing. All words are amusing, but ‘time’ is more amusing than most. We think ‘bouncing’ is a better word for it. Of course, we only use words when we meet someone who thinks in that way.”

A sudden jolt ran through Joseph’s body. The drumming of his heart shifted from presto to moderato. He felt the weight of his body returning. There was a brief moment of total silence, then the roar of the city crashed in. Light came, dim shades of crimson, penetrating his eyelids. He felt a presence next to him. Not the sphere, something familiar—something human.

“Joseph! Joseph, get up!”