There is a secret place in my mind. I cannot go there at will. I must … both call to this place… and be called. It is like a pool. And when near this pool, I dream -from above- my ordinary mind and ways of seeing. And then I can sense -new forms of seeing-, and try them. Then, I make a small flower in words that is an ornament, so to speak, of this seeing. This ornament carries the scent of the insight, a vapor of its character. An extract that reminds me of the little almost-dream wherein I found and brought it forth.