I see an arrow, turning around in blackness inside my mind’s eye, as if twirling on an invisible lazy-susan display in the night time sky. I see the shaft of wood with grain and texture, oil and dirt. The feathers on the end have shape and definition and some are stuck together with grease. The point is sharp greying metal.

Suddenly, the arrow flies through the blackness, piercing it, entering another dimension, entering a forested world of green and strikes a tree with the force of a blast from a lightning bolt. The arrow has disappeared, leaving the wood of the medium-sized tree’s trunk chewed up and bright white. The timber is splinters in some places and bent with greenness in others against the smooth grey of the outer bark.

The arrow is focus, with the power to magnify nebulous energy into a lightning bolt and strike any target with intensity.