Once in
a while, a star would fall to the ground, fizzle out in a cloud of
smoke, and and dissolve into a pebble of quartz. This only happened a
handful of times throughout my visit to this “Otherland.” Each
would-be meteor was more breathtaking than its counterpart in the
world or dimension from which I was called here. An enlightening
turmoil ensued inside that could turn the world on its side, at least
from one's own perspective, and cause a stumble, a stagger, a
drunken-seeming clumsiness by its beauty, as though witnessing an
angel stepping down to earth in full splendor, straight from the
presence of God, still shining with lightning about its robes. And
then it was nothing more than a rock, not unlike . . .
Well,
regardless of what it was like, it was beautiful to watch, though
hardly supernatural.
I reached out
towards the stars, and one fluttered like a butterfly over to my hand
and rest in my palm. It was warm to the touch, but not hot. The
coarse surface of the thing was glowing a faint white, and smelled of
hot copper. Immediately, it began cooling and dimming, but not
shucking its rough outer layer like the falling ones.
Many of these
“signs” are meaningless, and not worthy of note. Note whatever
you like, however, as it may mean something in the greater scheme, or
perhaps subjectively; to you individually.
It was a dull
thing, dusty almost, resembling oxidization-flecked chrome. I took it
to a pool of water -not water, but something much thinner, sweeter,
and softer- and began buffing it. In an instant, tendrils of roots
that routed between my fingers and to the ground sprouted from it and
pulled downwards out of my hand. A bark-like coating formed like
scales and softly-lit webs emerged from the branches. In a minute,
flowers blossomed, glowing with a faint illumination, which then set
fruits; new stars that fell not down but skyward, aligning with the
others as a glistening speck in the sky.
