I was always an odd one growing up. I always noticed things. I noticed everything. I still do. As a boy, I would listen to the music of the wind in the pines and maples, I would stare and watch the dancing clouds, listen to the songs and stories of birds, take part in the adventures of dogs and cats that I was included in. And every night, I would dream, as I still do, dreams every night that I couldn't explain, of other worlds and religions, of dark shadows and voices that moved through the woods at night behind the trailer park, the reciprocated knowledge that I could see them, and that they could see me, like my very state of existence made me able to walk freely through the places in between sleep and wakefullness. I would...