ABSTRACT
It is so many years since this writing was set. I remember the many versions, the effort to describe the experience without including what others would view as unnecessary or flawed. It was another effort to make it public, then to hear the divergent responses. One exposure followed by another. Shaped over months, this was the result. Even now, I make changes. No longer the person who voiced this tightly wrought core, I go over it again and again. Does it fit with the voice that has just sung? I see now the interweaving of the patterns, the guardedness, and the fear. Night country has always been within me. Tugging, inviting, penetrating. The writing quells my dread – it is a useful tactic for someone like me. I am no authority, only an impeccable prophet. Even so, when death enters, I think I have the power to resist. It is not so – it was never so. And so, in the fleeting light, I felt a darkness begin to take hold. The window was cut open before me and I had no choice but to step through. It is past and future all at once.
