I fantasize some experience before the fall into metaphor, before the conceptual machinery re-started. My dreams are windows into that world. They look out through glass, or some watery film, on a world unincorporated, a world with no boundaries. The dream is the borderland.

We are taken by the hand and led out of the darkness of night's womb, into the light of reality and they who lead us are the priests of reality. There is indeed a paranoia in this experience; the paranoid takes her/his fantasies seriously. I fantasize a malevolence in the teachers, in the spokespersons for the reality principle.

I am approaching a border to this experience. I do not know if it the same border that I crossed when this experience began. I cannot say that is was me who crossed that original border, but experience and metaphor tell me that there was a crossing. In this time/space where I now find myself, I find myself desiring to lose myself in metaphor. The metaphor is a borderland.