Here’s the thing: I stumbled into Temendia, by taking one day at a time, always supposing that this was temporary, short-term, just another in a long series of choices and half-choices that could be reversed at any time. Midway, or more, along that path I woke in a tunnel at the end of which was only night, made darker by the bright light of my fantasies. But Temendia only makes the darkness visible — the light at the end of the tunnel, if light there is to be, is only the light I bring.