What is being awake if not interpreting our dreams, or dreaming if not interpreting our wake?

If it had and answer, it wouldn't really be love, would it?

Love me, because love doesn't exist, and I have tried everything that does.

Choosing leaf or flesh, factory farm or family farm, does not in itself change the world, but teaching ourselves, our children, our local communities, and our nation to choose conscience over ease can.

Feathers filled the small room. Our laughter kept the feathers in the air. I thought about birds. Could they fly is there wasn't someone, somewhere, laughing?

I realized I was on a something island. 'How did I get here,' I wondered, surrounded by Nothing, "and how can I get back?

What? she said once to herself, and then once aloud, What? She felt a total displacement, like a spinning globe brought to a sudden halt by the light touch of a finger. How did she end up here, like this? How could there have been so much - so many moments, so many people and things, so many razors and pillows, timepieces and subtle coffins - without her being aware? How did her life live itself without her?