Watercolor thoughts: Unclouded Impression

The plateau was a sponge. It whipped up into the sky. Its pores many big and small; colorful flowers grew in all of them. It was large enough to stand without sinking; I was floating. I wanted to run and fly, but my heart was already doing that. The plateau soaked up the vast sky and let a cool breeze from the sun-kissed warmth of its body. The sky was as open as my eyes, and I felt that if I thought clearly the sky would reflect in kind with equal clarity. I fell to my knees. I always had wanted to let go. The sun shone and the plateau grew lighter. It was growing towards the light; it thrived on the light. It synthesized the every shimmer of the sun. I clutched at the stem of a small bed of flowers. They didn’t come loose. They did not loose themselves; they could not be uprooted. They opened to me, floating to me like a small child gifting a token treasure to their mother. They had no unmoving roots. The entire plateau was drifting like a great wandering healer, with origins unknown and life-sustaining as the first fountain. Everything was given as pure as breathe. At the edge of the plateau the sponge bubbled up. The wind weaved itself between my toes like the rivulets of returning waves. I felt the limber stance of the plateau ease itself into my back. Rising and falling like shoulders in an embrace, neither rigid nor formless. It became me as embraces unite bodies. The plateau did not have the sentiment that separates two bodies, and I did not hold expectations or doubts on why it should allow me to be so close. I believed in it as much as the sky stretching before me.