I stood before the wide pasture covered in low grass, blue in the horizon where hills met against the violet sky. Then I turned and the Gate arose. Columns of stone, lion heads gazing down. My guide nodded me to enter. As I did, the grass disappeared, and the ground disappeared and before me was the circle of hanging rooms. I was in between sleep and consciousness of sleep, the thin space where time is a line floating between infinite desires and bottomless fears. My guide had the voice of a woman, and a ring in every word. And I was empty, eyes hearing, ears seeing and no voice at all. There was the sound of waves patting an invisible shore.

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