The universe that suckled us is a monster that does not care if we live or die--it does not care if it itself grinds to a halt. It is a beast running on chance and death, careening from nowhere to nowhere. It is fixed and blind, a robot programmed to kill. We are free and seeing; we can only try to outwit it at every turn to save our lives.

Like any child, I slid into myself perfectly fitted, as a diver meets her reflection in a pool. Her fingertips enter the fingertips on the water, her wrists slide up her arms. The diver wraps herself in her reflection wholly, sealing it at the toes, and wears it as she climbs rising from the pool, and ever after.

I woke at intervals until . . . the intervals of waking tipped the scales, and I was more often awake than not.

We are here on the planet only once, and might as well get a feel for the place.

We wake, if we ever wake at all, to mystery, rumors of death, beauty, violence.

The creatures I seek do not want to be seen.

You search, you break your heart, your back, your brain, and then-and only then-it is handed to you.