The Blue

All I could see was the blue.
I don't know why I thought it was blue, because it could just as easily have been green or gold.
I just remember thinking what a beautiful color it was.
Shadows, too.
Shadows flying (floating, racing, dancing) over my eyes.
They must have been closed. My eyes, I mean. The shadows were dapples from somewhere above and they were surrounded by light, flying faster. I suppose they couldn't have been shadows without that purest light.
Maybe that's the point; maybe there are two kinds of sight: a sense, just like smelling or hearing or tasting or touching. But then there is the sight so much like touching, like being overwhelmed by an emotion, so much so that it brings color and pictures-- maybe memories-- to your eyes and to your mind. And this sight brings the softest, happiest warmth.
Does your soul feel?
Is that a stupid question? (My friend said once, that teachers say there are no stupid questions, only stupid answers... but they're only trying to make you feel better when you ask one.)
Here.
Within.
Without.
Everywhere...
I still see the blue.