I used to think that life and death were the only handmaidens for the body. That the sun and moon rose upon it and nothing else. I knew that the brain did not separate consciousness. Yet the sun and moon still set upon it. And so, cruelty and despair demanded reconciliation with an all loving Father, turning hi to shrieks of wrath.

But it could not be so, for a child's dream is real only until he wakes. It could not e so, because water seeks its own level. It could not be so because of the love I have for the world, and because I did not create myself.