This is the home of Sleeping in the Meadows.

"Surreal and poetic reflections on life and imagination... told in 3rd person through the dreams and adventures of two beings, Sa and Atee." 

Wednesday, September 9

Sleeping in the Meadows 96

What had happened to their world, Sa thought. When Atee was gone, he couldn't see anything at all. And it was as if Sa was sensitivity itself, when the remainder was greater than he and the part behind him shrunk.

Sa wasn't always beneath a low ceiling, in fact, his face tightened with limitation. Sa was, in the corner of his mind, before the meaning and beside the train, beside the journey and the walk and the time. The passion sometimes came before and Sa was looking for footprints in the air, and but, he never really walked alone, and the passion wasn't really leaving him behind. He had to realize that from his perspective, invisible things he had manifested into living fiction. And there would come a time, or maybe not, when Sa would see things differently or maybe as a whole, and he could organize his distant fractional worries with a warm salty ocean breeze tingling his nose.

Atee whipped their opinions into a bowl. She had heard what they thought but she wanted to look at them all at oncean and more clearly. She hadn't always a clue, but she knew that neither did anything beatiful, because clues were stressful because clues concentrated the division of curiosity and in life, curiosity was the ubiquitious clarity that allowed for all the changes witnessed, all the thrills and astonishment, and all of the untranslateable jolts that will suddenly arise without permission from any authority, once again, because when it comes to life, authority isn't authentic, at all.

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