AHEAD IN THE CLOUDS
He thought he saw the face of God in a cloud,
but it soon disappeared as the light faded, leaving not a hint of soul.
The limitless variety of clouds, as
they glide this way and that across the nebulous expanse of sky, never exactly repeating
themselves, despite superficial appearances to the contrary.
Some clouds seem to be at the roots of
mythological fancies, like dragons and griffins. Others assume animal or
human forms, and some are akin to dirigibles in their leisurely unfolding.
I have seen clouds that assume the heads of bears and others that of
foxes or dogs, all of which are capable of morphing into something else.
Having one's head in the clouds, as on occasion
did Wordsworth and Baudelaire, to name but two poets, is no bad thing from a
metaphysical standpoint, since it suggests an idealistic disposition towards
the subjectively ethereal and is doubtless preferable to losing one's head in
some other fashion.
The contemplation of clouds, when they are of a
sufficiently interesting and graceful nature, is a form of self-transcendence
leading to a relaxed and even meditative state-of-mind, especially in the early
evening when the sun is setting or has just set and the cloudscape assumes a
passive countenance.
The distant church spire appeared to be
wreathed in a halo of luminous splendour as the setting sun sank beneath the
horizon.
Was it akin to raised dough, or was it more
like candy floss? There were gossamer-like wisps of cloud trailing from
its amorphous bulk which dissolved into the ether and left no trace. Now
the candy floss turned into cotton wool and, before long, a cigar formed which
mutated into an airship before collapsing towards a nebulous cushion that once
more became a cloud and was soon past the window out of which I stared as
though with hypnotized eyes into the depths of my otherworldly imagination.
Logic had taken a holiday, and he was more like
a child, but without angst or suspicion. He seemed to have returned to
the artistry of his youth, but only for a brief moment. Soon he was back
at his desk, pushing logic to the limits of its endurance.
Plunging into the evening sky, he felt released
from earthly bondage and flew heavenwards on wings of transcendent joy, far
from the maddening crowd of snide bitches that polluted the public spaces.
A mottled cloudscape, disturbed only by the
transient flight of a stray bird, met his gaze as he slowly lifted his eyes
towards the heavens in hope of deliverance from earthly bonds and boors.
He was no common earth-grubber, to 'plunge
into' the leaf mould or tufts of grass or grassy mounds which crossed his
diurnal path. Rather did he avert his gaze in disgust from such mundane growths. The only reason he habitually looked down was
to avoid stepping into or tripping over anything. It never occurred to
him to embrace the earth or what grew from it, like a John Cowper Powys
obsessed by natural mysticism.
With his head in the clouds, he felt himself to
be ahead of the world and its countless rats petulantly racing around in every
direction but the one guaranteed to lead up and out ... towards otherworldly
delights.
LONDON 2012
Preview AHEAD IN THE CLOUDS eBook
