There's a place - you know - those travels in the night, those mental 'sneaking out of houses'... there's a place. And in that place reality is but illusion, it has no bearing on the intercourse flaming faces or the sensations freely rebounding when two fleeing beings meet and fill the empty spaces left by others who can never sate them... because they know not their existence.

It is a wondrous place where sentiment prevails - unfettered by the mundane minutiae of living - and there is never any dark sky; even the deepest night shines bright with starry hankering. Wishes made on those stars may never be but wisps of longing yet still they are whispered; just loud enough for one to hear the other voice them.

This place - this magical other-self incursion into mysterious assignments is not accessible by all - no not at all. Only those braving undue daring and a connection to the mystical and - you can only ever walk within it if you can. And you must be all in, all given over; everything surrendered to this being within.

No logic defines it and no duty binds it... this place of freedom and of grace and startling revelations like wildflowers in the Spring breeze lightly bowing this way and that obeying each brief tender new gust of yearning as it so gently brushes past. There is no tangibility to any of it. You cannot touch you cannot hold only send breath as gust... in parables untold.

Do you have any idea? You and the you wallowing in delusion and the stagnant status quo- do you know how near you are? This place is all around you and within you and - without you it would not exist. You have but to step aside and step within it when it palpitates - those fleeting moments caught in mid-flight between life and sleep... No, not a dream you sensible yet synchronously asinine buffoons; this place is real.