Lucid transformations, harking back to earlier times of tangible angels, pellucid sun gods, children, laughter and arching rainbows.
Sun-bursts and cloud-bursts, giddy-hearted, while running through the long grass, joy siezes us, rain and sun intermingled.

Vision becoming more intense as it slows, seeping gradually into the skull-dark, like day's first sun, reaching over the hills to light the valley.
light spreading outwards, the moment expanding, containing ever more within itself, stretching in all directions and dimensions.

Flowers laughing, grass laughing, children playing in the laughing grass
the sun smiles benevolently, its light mellow and golden.

Are we to be expelled from these sweet meadows in perpetuity? Even now the memories seem close enough to touch, can almost feel the air there-
its gentleness, its sun-warmth, its sprightly youth.

How did our limbs become so heavy? When did our thoughts grow so ponderous, our preoccupations so petty?
How did this come to pass? It is springtime still, the branches are supple and the leaf is green.
Only inattention, be it distractedness or wilfull blindness, can convince us that winter has come and that the sap has ceased to flow.

Your heart is a bud set to burst, your mind a flower, opening to greet the sun. And you never left the meadow and the laughing of its grass, though in your mind you conquered mountains and crossed the raging seas, charted icy wastes and begged for change in friendless cities. Wandered alone in empty deserts where the white sun burned your skin, crawled and hacked through sultry jungle where snakes and leopards lurk. Saw fantastic monsters and wonders too numerous to name, marvels both man-hewn and natural. Cities carved from mountain tops, temples of shining light, trees tall enough to touch heaven.

Lived among tribes with strange customs and of strange appearance, and learned their ways,
became indistinguisble with them and forgot your homeland.
Your face hidden beneath their tribal masks.
You jealously guard your status among the tribe. You brandish your spear. You hold yourself very erect and affect a stern experssion.
You imagine yourself very imperious.
You think you can never come back to the meadow.
What does the meadow know of power, of influence and the customs of strange tribes?
What does the meadow know of intrigue, manipulation and deceit?
Of brute force or brutal cunning? Of violence greed betrayal?
Of all the small meanesses and dishonesties of thought, hypocrasies and double standards,
cruel, spiteful thoughts, thoughts of censure, thoughts of scorn, mockery, the pinched, mean mind, the vindictive mind, the spiteful mind.
What does the meadow know of indolence, of idleness, of joyless self-indulgence, of lassitiude and inertia?