As Roran watched, the man's arms, neck, and chest shriveled, and his bones appeared in sharp relief-from the bowlike curve of his collarbones to the hollow saddle of his hips, where his stomach hung like an empty waterskin. His lips puckered and drew back farther than they were intended to over his yellow teeth, baring them in a grisly snarl, while his eyeballs deflated as if they were engorged ticks being squished empty of blood, and the surrounding flesh sank inward.

Horror it has it's own strange stuff... brutal stuff and it's difficult understanding!?

Observing the stream of eternal and simple truth is the same for all who look upon the fountainhead of consciousness.

We are all students of the world; frail embodied consciousnesses struggling to understand, and be a meaningful part of this great, mysterious gift of life.

There are many, many, many worlds branching out at each moment you become aware of your environment and then make a choice.

To persevere with the will to understand in the face of obstacles is the heroism of consciousness.