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The winds from the south had spoken to Kuaiji, not in the classic sense his human mind tended to grasp to, but still he heard them. In the golden fields a battle was brewing. Human, demon, and some other things no meant to meet were.. parlying? Kuaiji wrapped his cloak tight around his shoulders and concentrated on a voice, not the tall warrior who seemed to fly, not the man in black, but there.. yes.. the cricket by the edge of the stream. He focused on its natural chirp and let his body pass. He would be there in no time, and no one would notice his entrance. If there was to be battle, Kuaiji would not be left out
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"Life is possible only with illusions. And so, the question for the science of mental health must become an absolutely new and revolutionary one, yet one that reflects the essence of the human condition: On what level of illusion does one live?"
-- Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death
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