Conditional Reality

We never really left the ocean: we took it with us. Its salt taste courses through us even now, a red sea rippled by steady waves, beating against the shores of veins and arteries. The surging lub dubs rocking your head with tiny throbs is the shell on the snail’s back. It’s the briny home that has clung to you since birth and will stay with you even if you leave Earth and voyage to another star, where alien creatures will learn about our planet simply by pricking your finger and analyzing the oozing liquid, beading wet on its tip.

Labels: Claypot Dreamstance