LIFE IN THE CLOUDS

Was it only yesterday that I, swathed as I was in my prototypical human ignorance of the greater plans and objectives of the cosmos, looked upon all this water in the air and called it "rain"? (Cue inward manic laughter.)

Indeed, I used that term with all objectivity in this very venue, but a few days ago. How fleeting is the bliss of ignorance! I should have suspected something was up. Turns out it's us.

Having just returned from a few moonless yet full-moon night moments on the deck to see whether it was still "raining," (more fool I!) and there being struck with the Great Mallet of Enlightenment, I now realize that as of some time in the past we here actually live in the clouds: the sky has fallen (the world has risen?), and it now rains below us.

Up here in our new world, where the rain is sort of paused as it shuffles in place and gets in line awaiting its turn to fall in torrents upon the lower, broader world of the flatlands, living is more like being softly underwater, a semifishy kind of existence.
Perhaps soon we will experience a strange sensation along the sides of our bodies as we begin reverting to our ontological form and once again take to breathing with gills.

Judging by the still-resounding impact of the Great Mallet, the primordial is never very far away.