It's like I'm somewhere in the middle, trying all the while to integrate, integrate. I leep getting these visions and sometimes I don't know what to do. Like I don't know where real is anymore, but it is all right here. It is all real.
And what do I keep dreaming? There is so much light...
Everywhere there has been all light. Up north, riding the Arctic express past the fjords, watching the origin lights shine up from beneath the sparkles of moonlight on the water.
And every time I ask, what should I be doing?, they tell me write, write.
Write again.
Write another ending.
Break out of the cycle and create your own road.

Every time you come to me you wear a different face, but every time, I still know it is you. There is a depth of touch, a caress of looking which comes from such great comfort that I could not know how not to.
Of course you know, and feel, and love, the return of every dream and touch.

In all the instances which have passed, I have been playing my part, only to turn around and find that I am somewhere else entirely. Underneath it all, there is something like love and freedom.
It has taken me a while to recognize this passage and this proceedure. It has taken me a while to recognize that I am half of one and half of another, and always, incomparably, the whole of me. I am walking the edge because one side or the other would limit me. On the line, we are all boundless.
I thought they sent me out to the island, but the place where I live is island enough. This land drifts across the water and I am the Captain of my own stone and dust. I am here for the duration, and there are still things to be done
They left me to the southern balm on calm, flat seas, and I stood out on the bayou lands, watching the oil rigs in the distance. I focused hard, and saw. There were dolphins all around the pylons, spinning the steel into light, and as I watched, the gridwork of the sky was being rebuilt into golden cathederal ceilings.
I stood, somewhere between the water and the land.

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