I returned from a far away place. I’ve been near it before but never quite inside. It was a strange place to be. Somehow, I never indulged my need to write while I was there. (Writing is like food and water and sleep. I need it. Yet in the spirit of negation, I try to deny that I need anything. No more such folly.)
Instead, I ran. I paused a few times to look around but the terrain was smooth and downhill. Such a pleasure to run! Quite irresistible. In the blurred rush I saw pink leaves glowing in the purple evenings. I saw dew droplets that never evapourated. The dry leaves under my feet, as I crushed them with my steps gave the sweetest fragrances. I really did want to stop and enjoy the view but anytime I tried, the blur of wondrous things seemed to fade just a tad. The only way of enjoying this world was to run with it. Allow my feet to do give way to the ground below me and natural physics. Roll with it!
I didn’t stop wondering how the world would look from a still-standing perspective. The curiosity built up over time and soon got the better of me. I slowed down. It wasn’t easy to break the momentum of the run. Finally when I was just walking, I saw the world again. I saw it all before what I saw shocked me to stand still and it disappeared altogether.
So I have returned. This world is beautiful in its own way and I do indeed like to write. But often I wonder where I was and how I could run for so long. And as I do sometimes, I wonder which world; this one or the one of my dreams, is real. And which of the two worlds I belong to.