The sun is rising over Harris Creek on this chilly morning in late October, silent except for the calls of geese, some of whom will begin to settle in, and November nights will contain the callings of the community on the creek. I remember these calls and the falling leaves and the southing sun rising over the creek. Consciousness is remembrance; the unconscious remembers nothing.

To lose your memory is to lose yourself. Imagine yourself delerious. In delerium I would be continuously lost, as in my dreams, but really lost, as in lost while awake. To be unable to locate yourself: that is panic. But the panic is confined to reality; in the unreal world their is no panic; the body of panic is asleep. Terror is the loss of control in a world that depends upon it. Terrorists are projections of a civilization that is losing control.

Reality depends upon memory, but the unreal does not. A real world must be maintained, that is, there is a tendency toward the unreal; the tendency is toward forgetting. Reality is maintained in resistance to unreality. Here is the kernal of war.