She walked around all four cardinal points of the compass around the temple, kneeling at each point, neck upturned to the sun. She worships under a baked skin she wears to hide and be seen. We are all invisible to her. - Trey Ratcliff | Stuck In Customs

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I knew it could not be real. Nights on earth were not like this. It only is real within the framework of a game or a book or a movie or that temporary escapism that pulls us out from a rather banal life. But it is real. You can see the lasers as they dance across your retina and you can feel the cool wind from the night desert slide up your leg and you can hear the metallic cries of a new sound and you can taste a fine alkaline coolness in the back of your throat. And you can drift among the lights and the souls and dance between and through spirits that haunt the night with you. And it is all real and none of it matters and everything matters. And it is all matter.

She stood in the light while in shadow. The path led endlessly into the fog and she saw it for what it was. The path was just one, and she had already chosen. In the distance, it fell away into a blue haze. Every few steps would reveal something impossible and unforeseen. What would appear next was beyond reason and what would appear underfoot would be enough to make any mortal’s heart shudder. She had a hundred paths within her, even though she only stood on one.

There was only one light, from her torch that she held while she rode by on a bike at full speed. I remember that the flame made a sound. It was the close sound of a small sail catching wind. It would muffle itself, then catch wind again. The gentle rumble of the flame reached a crescendo as she passed. I thought it lit her face so nicely, and her mask was so mysterious. I have no idea who she was, and she probably didn’t want anyone to know who she was. That was very nice in a world without secrets, I thought.

The sun-dried bones of a skeleton clambored across the white sand. The huge ribs would rattle and shake, each one on their own, like the strings plucked by a god playing a new tune. From a distance, it glided like an octopus through a sea of blue.

She walked around all four cardinal points of the compass around the temple, kneeling at each point, neck upturned to the sun. She worships under a baked skin she wears to hide and be seen. We are all invisible to her.

The creatures and inventions that fill our world could have been one thing or another, but things turned out the way they turned out. But here, things turn out every way. If a parallel universe is one in which slightly different decisions were made, then this is a place where many parallels co-exist in harmony. Would a mobile steampunk octopus create more awe than a Spanish basilica? Would a half-sunken ship gather more prayers than the walls of Jericho? Is there more than one world here with us, dancing through the veil where we see the shadows when we daydream? It’s right here all the time, if you are ready for it.

The sunrise drifted across the desert like a thought that would not go away. Through the long night there was a gentle aching for the sun, for the morning warm breeze, for the transcendant heat. It transported all of us into another day while we spun around and around underneath.

I got caught up in a bunny march. There were over a thousand people in bunny costumes, hopping through the desert sand on the way to the temple. It's the sort of surreal experience that reminds you both of how strange the world is -- and how much you love bunnies.

She emerged from the morning sand and stood before the eastern sun. Her dress was silk and flapped in the sandy morning gusts. It made a sound of a distant flag, popping in the wind.

She walked around all four cardinal points of the compass around the temple, kneeling at each point, neck upturned to the sun. She worships under a baked skin she wears to hide and be seen. We are all invisible to her.

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