Pain In Left Side Of Back Above Waist

Shooting Stars Break of reality

rooms, however, his mind shut itself was slowly waking up and still incredulous indecisive began to decipher the alphabet of signs that he created while not created. Forms gradually acquired hitherto flat plastic and spatial character. For all parties had extravagant rock formations, stalactites and stalagmites, roots, tree trunks and pieces lava molten reports that the random forces of nature had become, with increasing perfection in the most surprising and at the same time more convincing. It was hard to believe that all things could be just the result of arbitrary games of chance, however, was no other force, but acting in their own viewer, the chance that those forms created the most amazing works of art. More and more travelers will be erased the boundaries between inside and outside, between what we created and what was really before their eyes, until finally he could not distinguish one from the other and lived his own spirit as something external and objects as its interior. Suddenly had the sensation of seeing himself, his own figure sitting there in the stroller, inside and out at the same time, as if it was not nothing but a form emerged by chance, which saw a creative spirit be. But just this sense that being turned reality. That frightened him, but it was a pleasant shock.
From that moment, when he finally began to see, had not been able to say if what you saw depended on what was still ahead. He thought rather than from one room to another object External became more simple and general, but now that secret force had deployed its wings, rose more and more transforming the look of all things. Of a dead leaf, a white egg, a feather out worlds to meet. And he was deeply attached to them all was their creator and his creation at the same time. He realized now that's left everything he had known until then really started to get closer to reality.

Excerpt from "The Wanderer" story of "The Mirror in the Mirror" by Michael Ende


I read it less than an hour ago and stayed with my mouth open, like the old story of the discovery, as another hitherto unknown face of reality. Does not it happen sometimes that you sought the answer to both jump and gives you in the face when least expected? I spent the morning down books and do not know why it has given me the curiosity to see if he had already dropped some of Ende. I found a few in a collection and I opened this account just to understand again that the border between reality, fantasy, imagination is pure invention of reason. To fill the reality of dreams is to see through the eyes of sleep and try to accept it "as it really is" is to deny ourselves.
Greetings to Ray, the most faithful reader of the newspaper: P