The Alien and me.

Suddenly my view of myself and the universe, would, in that instant be changed, re-evaluated, all the questions I asked from that moment on would be different. Context would be different,
If I came across an Alien today.
What would I say if there were words. Would I shake hands if there were hands ? Or indeed if there was form ? Or would I ignore the Alien as a mere figment of my imagination. And what is wrong with a mere figment of my imagination ? What did I impose upon myself that a figment of of my imagination could never be a figment, perhaps the most significant figment of my existence.
Why have I allowed that being without form, that being that dreams, that being that imagines, that being that continually sees life as play. Why have I allowed that being to turn into an Alien living in a cage of suppression. Knocking on my door from inside my mind.
As the knocking gets louder, pushing against the mundanity of habittuality that takes over as existence, it’s time to let the Alien out. For there is always an alien sitting inside us that is knocking at the doors of our mind with figments of imagination – but over the years we start ignoring those figments as impractical madness.
What is practical anyway ? Or should I say, what is more practical, or, better still, real? Me? Or the alien within me?