Green pastures as far as the eyes could see, ones both flat and hilly able to be gazed upon. Foliage of all kinds, tall and short grass, shrubbery and bushes, flowers/roses/lilies, succulents, fungi, species of a vascular variety, weeds, and other eccentric beings having sprouted from within the soil. All commonplace staples in this fertile land, which bares fruit aplenty. It canât help but do so. Extended out into infinity, seemingly never coming to an end. Acre upon acre, where even small distances seem like vast, incomprehensible pathways into the unknown. Out in the distance, dense clusters of trees loom into view, branches and leaves casting wide, looming shadows over the ground that they tower over. Bordering the sprawling grandiosity of the wondrous, wide open space. Strong, sturdy creations which boldly jut out from the surface of the earth, shading the smaller, more fragile and easily knocked over distant cousins that stand alongside them, sometimes clustered around their roots. Deciduous and evergreen alike are bunched together, such impeccable diversity, for the to the untrained, uncaring eye, they all look alike, but in all actuality, they are indescribably unique. And no two sectors of these proud beings is the same. Perhaps similar, but totally alike? Hardly. Not at all. Boldly, they stand. Like guardians, protecting their domain. Here, within their embrace, lies something alluring, sinister, possibly dangerous and foreboding, but also beautiful, exciting, primordial, and undeniablyâŠright.
And if you wander far enough, youâll see deep, mirror-like bodies of a mesmerizing, refreshing substance. Untainted, undisturbed by any manner of grotesqueness. Rife with a perennial purity, one that touches the very essence of the soul, something which goes beyond its mere practical uses (although these do not diminish it in the slightest). You peer into it, and it peers back. Much akin to an eye, turned out into the exterior, taking in the sights. And the sights, it enjoys. The way they bounce off of its delicate, ever-changing, serene, constantly mobile, and yet, oddly still, surface, only add to its seemingly endless charm. Drawn into it, youâd love to plunge into it. Be submerged within its damp embrace. Feel as if you are flying above, whirling around in the deep below. Uppermost peak and lowermost base converging into a point of infinite togetherness. Like that myth of old, youâre tempted to fall in. But not out of wanton adoration for thyself, no. More out of a hypnotic tugging that seeks to seal your fate, by being engulfed within this world within a world. All of that weight and pressure baring down on you, molding so perfectly around your form, making you conform to its wishes, even as you feebly attempt to make it do as you will it to. It has a mind of its own, doesnât it? To hell with your ideas, your thoughts, your emotions. Perish in the streams and the lakes and the oceans, for they care not. Wash it all away, they will.
Turning thy gaze upwards, you peer up into that so close, and yet, so far, expanse of vibrant turquoise, stretching untold miles around this impossibly breathtaking celestial body, floating and suspended in a gaping void of untold, nightmarish, disjointed insanity, as well as countless emanations of inexpressible (yet, so eloquently and unequivocally expressed) allurement, grace, and magnificence, you feel as though you can touch it. Noticing the reflection of the great waters upon the protective covering that keeps the raging passion and burning intensity of the sun at bay, you wonder if you dip your hand in, will you be able to crack the sky from down here, even if just the tiniest bit. Of course, you cannot. How silly, such a notion is. Even under the bright, aqua tint, you can still catch glimpses of far greater phenomenon out there. Stars that shine from light years, having already died thousands of years ago. Nebulae that were born out of the orgasmic explosion and collapse of said stars. Or maybe the occasional rock fragment zipping by, burning itself out, seared into nonexistence, plunging itself, ecstatically, into death, disintegration, coming apart and thrilled by every second of it. Like a window into the frightening, fearsome, and tantalizing wilderness of the cosmic habitat that all resides on (on this plane, anyhow, but also, on anotherâŠone that is far more paradoxical and rife with carnage than the one we know to be ârealâ), you see all, watch all, perhaps even hear all. Itâs right there, but at the same time, it will always elude your touch, your grasp. And maybe that is what draws you to it. The fact that you cannot feel it, roam around in it, or even begin to comprehend its many, many secrets, which are buried deep inside of regions that have no light, where life and death no longer have meaning.