In the beginning there was no fracture between land and sky. The stars hugged the earth like it was a newborn, and so it was, and so it was. The forces of the earth knelt in the hinterland, the air hummed a warm analogue feedback, power surged and hissed, the show was about to go on. The curtains were to be wrenched apart. The forces reached boiling point, their time was now, the sky was torn from the earth, sorrowful tears ran down the mountains, once they had only known the warm dark slumber of love.  The cold hard reality of existence chiselled the mountain faces and spilt their blood across the land. Ice formed and hardened the peaks, the blood fertilised the earth, life sprouted and battled and prospered. Life sprouted and multiplied, and words were formed, and words were fired, and words were prized and these words are the words I use right now.
And so here we are, both blessed and lost. Blessed and lost. Blinded to the stars under a halogen smog. Blinded to the stars under a civilised fog. Stand on a clear winters night, bare feet to the earth, look up, look up, open your eyes and open your ears, the power still surges and hisses, look for the stars, listen for the feedback, they will show the way. Go outside, go outside and touch the grass as they say.