Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Passing Through.

Clouds are capable of giving one a pretty odd sensation. I am quite sure that the individual who decided Angels sat on them did not live near elevation, fog, and had never flown.

In addition, the person who came up with that notion was hopelessly off his rocker, for the idea is inanely absurd. Where on earth (literally) did the assumption that angels are silly, charming, and stupid come from anyway? I'm pretty sure I'd be terrified of an Angel making himself known to me.

Clouds. Utterly obscure, constantly changing - more than a woman, fickle though she be.

When above them: elation, peace, wonder. The sun burns brightly on the white sea as it fleets mindless yonder. In this world of in between, this land of space with the only visible things being sun and depth of cloud, I think of Ransom being carried to Venus in Perelandra. But I lack my coffin of transportation, my mission from Oyarsa, and Professor Weston to defeat. This abyss holds an odd sense of security.

Sinking through them, surrounded, wondering what is East and West, momentarily holding oxygen flow until the claustrophobic atmosphere evaporates and reveals the interesting palate of objects and colors. The magic whispers my name but it is only in teasing mockery for it is gone, gone, gone. It is ungraspable.

The biosphere comes into focus, blotches become roof tops, seas of fluctuating green - lusty trees, and those shiny moving specks merely modes of transportation.

I liked the passing silvery ocean.

I was drawn to the obscure in between -

But the current view, yes, is where I belong, for the time being.