Zoom back in a bit more, back towards what’s known as a grounded reality. It is entirely possible to see the hand of God allowing underfed birds to peck seedlings from the palm or slapping a minor across the face for using teeth.
Crystal skulls raining down from cumulus clouds, moisturizing the fairy air further, whistling tunes of days of past. Tunes of woes unto those whom confuse tradition for sacredness, praising sacrilege.
This sort of psalm, broadcasts 24/7 around the world, and can be easily tuned into without any sort of electrical device.
Figuring out which station is which is the difficult part, so all sources must be subjected to extreme scrutiny…
I notice I seem to be standing on what feels like solid ground and look down at my feet. I’m surprised not to see smoothed cement but nothing.
Still lost in some region of deep space. The nebulae and galaxies more like splotches of paint thrown at a canvas like one of Pollock’s masterpieces. The ‘paint’, however, is still wet. Dripping from their splat of origin, technicolor spider veins branching out onto the blank excess of nothing. The runoff trickles down on the proverbial floor I stand on, beginning to puddle at my feet.
Celestial bodies surround me, seeming to be within arm’s reach, but millions of light years away.
Reality is quite the optical illusion.