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Far, far away from the damp cold earth where the Dragons of Mistrust exhale hatred incompetency jealousy, he floats adrift like a tireless eagle - a determined seagull, a la jonathan?- or a ship unchartered on sea unterrained, a ship with a mind and purpose and meaning of it's own. Below him, they scramble looking for meaning for themselves, their existence, their acts and their lives. His lips remain firmly unmoved but his eyes scatter the reflected puzzlement he sees at their need to look beyond themselves.

Lives lived, existences chronicled unchronicled long forgotten- all and sundry is an attempt to give meaning or formulate it or attain it or define it. Hanging lose over the world like an unfettered god, he sees the dragonants below hurrying to and fro from nowhere to nowhere, from nowhere to anywhere, and wonders why he doesn't feel the nagging need to define and to endow such definitions with meanings.

Is it just that he's so far away; does this ocean of an abyss signify a severing of his ties with meaning? He doesn't feel the need for meaning, he defies the need to define not out of rebellion and not as a reaction, not even as an act but simply because he knows no other way of existing. But then again, perhaps it's because he is Meaning himself, looming over the world and time, sick of being entreated and appeased and pleaded to, just wanting to be owned. For a change, just once.
He's right there, always has been...the dragonants were always so busy trying to locate and pin him onto their acts and lives that they were blind as bats before him, and stupid as mice because they didn't know and couldn't understand the impossibility of pinning down atoms ever-present in the air.