Suddenly my view of myself and the universe, would , in that instant be changed, re -evaluated, all the questions I asked from that moment on would be different. Context would be different,
If I came across an Alien today.
What would I say if there were words. Would I shake hands if there were hands ? Or indeed if there was form ? Or would I ignore the Alien as a mere figment of my imagination. And what is wrong with a mere figment of my imagination ? What did I impose upon myself that a figment of of my imagination could never be a figment, perhaps the most significant figment of my existence.
Why have I allowed that being without form, that being that dreams, that being that imagines, that being that continually sees life as play. Why have I allowed that being to turn into an Alien living in a cage of suppression. Knocking on my door from inside my mind.
As the knocking gets louder, pushing against the mundanity of habittuality that takes over as existence, itâ€™s time to let the Alien out. For there is always an alien sitting inside us that is knocking at the doors of our mind with figments of imagination – but over the years we start ignoring those figments as impractical madness.
What is practical anyway ?