Somewhere, the zebra is dancing.

Inside each of us resides the truth, I began, the absolute truth. But sometimes the truth is hidden in a hall of mirrors. Sometimes we believe we are viewing the real thing, when in fact we are viewing a facsimile, a distortion.

Very gently. Like there are eggshells on your pedals, and you don’t want to break them. That’s how you drive in the rain.

I suddenly realized. The zebra. It is not something outside of us. The zebra is something inside of us. Our fears. Our own self-destructive nature. The zebra is the worst part of us when we are face-to-face with our worst times. The demon is us!

The human language, as precise as it is with its thousands of words, can still be so wonderfully vague.

...you have to reach for things beyond your grasp, or what is heaven for

The visible becomes inevitable.