With all of my attention pointing away from home and leading me further and further from that warm knowing within, I finally decided to turn toward where the sunrise was bouncing off the window just as the light was penetrating through the glass, or so I knew it to be even though I wasn’t inside to see it. Or was I? I thought of the bird last week that flew headlong into whatever scene was reflecting in that moment and how it lay at the bottom of the window for hours until it recovered from the impact of velocity meeting illusion. I don’t know if it ultimately survived, but I do know it recovered enough to find shelter in a place it perceived to be safe. I thought of my mind. I thought of my country. I thought of the world, all of which feels as volcanic as this sunrise reflecting off the surface of glass. How many illusions are keeping us busy? What kind of force will it take to break them and what will be the impact of that sudden reckoning when we slam headlong into dreams?