For the past year I've been caught in a waking dream. Alternating between to points of being, in and out of focus. Like a boomerang spinning from one extreme to the next. A pair of wolves chasing the sun and the moon.

Then I realize it's been like this for many more years. More than I'm comfortable admitting. Echoes of people in other people. Bits of words in conversation repeated. The same hounds are chasing me around the same tree trunk and my hands have worn grooves into the bark where I'll grab again some day.

Life really is a flat circle, or that's what the Prussian said. Is the meaning of life breaking out that circle? Or is it embracing it?