We Have To Allow Ourselves To See

Maybe We're All In Somebody's Dream. Maybe Everything's A Dream, And Nothing Else.

Books. They Are Lined Up On Shelves Or Stacked On A Table. There They Are Wrapped Up In There Jackets, Lines Of Neat Print On Nicely Bound Pages. They Look Like Such Orderly, Static Things. Then You, The Reader Come Along. You Open The Book Jacket, And It Can Be Like Opening The Gates To An Unknown City, Or Opening The Lid Of A Treasure Chest. You Read The First Word And You're Off On A Journy Of Exploration And Discovery.

Sometimes We Just Have To Accept There Are Things We Can’t Know. Why Is Your Sister Ill? Why Did My Father Die?…sometimes We Think We Should Be Able To Know Everything. But We Can’t. We Have To Allow Ourselves To See What There Is To See, And We Have To Imagine.

What Are You?" I Whispered. He Shrugged Again. "something," He Said. "something Like You, Something Like A Beast, Something Like A Bird, Something Like An Angel." He Laughed. "something Like That.

The Dead Are Often Known To Eat 27 And 53