That's it.
Monsieur Seurat? I was thinking of something pointillistic for the landscape. Could you -
Great, thanks.
Senior Neruda, I don't want to tell you how to do your job, but that sea foam could be a bit more surreal.
Perfecto.
Everything in place? Well then -
A dead jellyfish washed up at my feet, lying there in fine repose as a home-coming traveler does collect himself before the door. I had a look down at this soundless, stillful fellow and rather expected him to make introductions, seeing as how we were alone together on this beach of my dreams, but, no - this was a stubborn and final jellyfish, death notwithstanding.
To the left and right the vista extended farther than the eye could see, and, if one could travel out past that point - this is impossible, impossible - but if one could then one would only discover another infinite stretch of sand and shore. Resignedly, I hung my head and was met again by the imploring presence of the dead jellyfish washed up at my feet.
I rose to the occasion with the most penetratingly quizzical expression in my repertoire.
Reveal your secrets, my gelatinous friend.
Heap upon me all your whys and wherefores.
Enlighten me.
Suddenly I heard a familiar voice declaim simply,
"That is a jellyfish."
I nodded in assent but at the same time a dream a butterfly was dreaming in another place rose quietly-steadily from my toes to my voice and said,
"That is not a jellyfish."
Whereupon the whole world, as jellyfish, stood writhing at my feet in ecstasy, as something that self-evidently both is and is not, in stunning, lovely, equal parts. I smilingly watched the languid fingers of the rising tide swallow the jellyfish and myself, giving me reluctant passage back to the waking world.
2 comments:
sounds like it wasn't the world that was waking...
Hey, have you read Italo Calvino's "Cosmicomics"? In some parts you write a little bit like him. You'd like the book! (It is better in Italian, though. But you have a head start with the Latin already! :D).
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