I belong to the camp of the crazy. To voices in my head. To losing touch with reality. To illusion and... to sweet, sweet release.
Your sorcery is too big to extinguish. It will come through the trunks of poplars, the haze of the morning sky, the halo around the moon.
Get comfortable with the discrepancies. Drink in the dissonance. Learn to love the freedom in the floundering. Don’t stop the story short.