Awareness There is a dark place. A place where I have no eyes, no mouth. No words. I can't cry out because I have no breath. The silence is so deep I want to die. But I can't. The darkness and silence go on forever. It is not a dream. I don't dream.

On a small planet, where minute follows minute, day follows day, year follows year, where tradition marches on with a deafening, orderly beat -sometimes the order is disturbed by a dreamer, an artist, a scribbler - sometimes the beat is changed one person at a time.

Sometimes there's not a better way. Sometimes there's only the hard way.

What I think is all I have left. My mind is the only thing that makes me different from a fancy toaster. What we think does matter-it's all we truly have.

Maybe there was no one way to define it. Maybe there were as many shades of love as the blues of the sky.

Whatever you choose for your stationery is your favorite color because it's where you pour your heart out.

Maybe staying on the surface keeps her from returning to a place where she can't breathe.