now that i know the word pareidolia from harry i see an essay on pareidolia in a magazine and it talks about trauma, disorientation, lack of comprehension, cause and effect. i go back to childhood for origins, staring at my headboard for hours, seeing another world in the wood, going into it more readily than what was outside of inside, the adult world. trauma begins somewhere beyond the rational world but it lives in the same world. the patterns i saw emerge from the wooden headboard i carried into the day and thereafter. and the flying dreams, and the running dreams when i could not fly or veer off from the edge, endlessly running was all i could do. now we are the adults, anyway grown old, saying to ourselves and each other, just do what you can, that's all you can do. we're in a trauma culture, it's the air we breath, all we can do is bear witness, while lurking like orphans in a dream state.