How do you know the taste of a cloud, or the scent of a sunrise in August? You go to Draconia-5...I've been there many times. And I keep going, so that I remember the difference between here and there. There was a dragonfly there once...some jewel-color that doesn't have an Earth name...and she said the texture of dewdrops was the most amazing thing...kind of like liquid velvet without the threads. Last time I was there, I tasted some dewdrops and they really did feel like that...tasting like honey gingerale. Just no words, really... I like Draconia 5 - it's so incredible - but I haven't been there in a while.
Truly, it was a long time ago that I first went, but time is so different there that it's hard to relate what that actually means in Earth terms. The whole rhyme and reason that gives meaning to the planet's vision just is not Terran...not Earth-like, if you know what I mean. It's not a cognitive difference (well, it is, but not so much), it's a sensory difference; it's an energy shift that draws you beyond all known boundaries and perceptions...you don't even know what you don't know when you're there...you don't realize you're "there", because it feels like a "here and now" experience, in your awareness. Even re-reading this, it's hard for me to understand, nevermind the listener that has no foundation on which to interpret this. Perhaps it would be easier if I just worked from the notes in my journal, and let you come along for the ride. You definitely need to experience this, even if just from my notes. So, then, get ready to journey; Draconia-5 is waiting for you.
Ever feel the wind blow through your bones? Not metaphorically, but physically? Kind of like combing the arteries, and brushing the synapses -- making chimes of my bronchial tubes...It's disconcerting at first, but after a while, well, I got used to it. So, then, coming back to Earth, it was like sensory deprivation -- an isolation that was even more discomforting. I enjoyed the wind on Draconia-5. There was a holistic dialogue and dance that engaged all of me, all the time. At the seashore (yes, there's a seashore), we all danced and sang -- the sea and wind and fuzzy sand and I. Then some large-winged (10'-12'span) seabirds joined us, singing raucous songs. They looked to be a cross between a seagull and a pteradactyl, if you can imagine. I saw a school of minature dolphin-type creatures carousing farther out, cautious about the sea birds, of course. The tendrils of silence began stretching out as the sun set, like a gentle hand on the shoulder, calming the world, in the transition of first sun to first moon. There are subtler transitions with second moon rising and FarSun passing, but the most dramatic is 1st sun to 1st moon.
There's a tube fish, here, that leaves its glass tube skeleton when it's ready to pass on to another. I've got a collection now: big and small, cobalt blue to ruby red with many variations that just don't have Earth-type names. I just make them up. I have a set that makes tones like what a crystal xylophone might sound like. The most special one I have is very big by fish standards, and clear crystal. That's very unusual, here. At sunset I go to the seashore and, keeping my fingers wet, I run them around the rim until it sings. If you're very good at this, you can do this on both ends at the same time and get harmonics. It is such an awesome tone, you wouldn't believe. There's an Elder citizen here that says Spirit gifted that to me so I could sing through the Veil. I'm not sure what all that means, but I am sure grateful to have it and enjoy using it. When I play it, I lose a sense of me and become a part of everything...just everything... it's unwordable.