In the midst of the nightmare he began narrating his actions and was shocked to realize the narrator responded immediately. The discovery that he was a character was disturbing. Lack of significance on a vast scale. Thoughts formed in fragment-like pictures, color-coded jigsaw puzzles.

"Who am I really talking to," he asked her "You or me? Is there even a difference"?

Maybe there was an answer but he didn't hear it, nor care. The dream was losing it's grip on him and he still surrendered to it, loved it, and let go of it. He began to say:

"Once upon a time there was a dream that couldn't die, and it never existed but it always had, and the people were sleeping gods and the gods were sleeping people, but the gods lost contact with their humanity, and the humans lost contact with their divinity, and they fought, and now the bastard children of infinite inbred crossbreed halfling gods and godling men have inherited the Earth."

"One whose name is unknown, I am Yesterday; one who views a million years; my name is one who passes on the paths of those who are in charge of destinies. I am he who fashioned with his Eye, and I will not die again. No left without a right. No shadow without a light. The roots of the tree of saints drink blood, sanguine, and stretch down into hell. Growth comes from overcoming one's own heart. I have gone out, I have risen up, I have gone in, I am alive."