Sometimes when we lose our minds, we go stark raving mad. At these times, we are beaten with figurative sticks and kicks, maybe there is blood and death or sex. The fluids and elements mix with our shattered psyches in a gaping gash of consciousness. But I have found there are other ways to break. I have found the simple strand that weaves a new story when you follow its thread. I fell down and followed, after the breaking, before the death, near to the edge, I reached above my head, blinded until frozen fingers clenched a line that wove me into this story. Listen, and listen well if you also choose to rewrite your very blood and bone. There is a way.