I could see the music. I could see it vibrate in psychotropic colors, outward and onward from the Guitar Man. And I doubt that I was the only one in that crowd feeling and experiencing that music. The crowd had to have been feeling it, they were tranced out, moving in complete sync with the Guitar Man's ever chord pluck, stroke and wail. It was the event of all events, the last night of a three day art, drug, music and free expression binge out in the dessert. It was pretty far out. Three days of the world's misunderstood minds, artists and creators coming together for the festival of all festivals. And then it was almost over, and the crowd, myself included, stood amongst several large sculptures looking at the Guitar Man and his band play against a monster burning effigy backdrop. All of us in sync with the person next to them.

She was screaming the loudest, dancing the hardest, dressed the coolest, standing on top of one of the giant sculptures, a twisted image with its hands held outward to receive a gift. Her skin was fair, her hair was black, a few tattoos and some killer facial and ear piercings, the woman of my dreams. She reminded me of the sixties, a flowing skirt and a black and white striped long sleeve shirt and a scarf in her hair. She embodied the freedom of the sixties, and the freedom of this festival, and she was alone. So I did what any aging hipster would have done, I climbed up to meet her. The fire in her eyes was burnt onto my soul forever the moment I saw them, forever etched, going nowhere, and her smile clasped at me with a steel grip.

" Hey freedom...you dance good."

The ultimate opener. Even if I hadn't been blitzed out of my face, I doubt I could have said anything better to her.

"Thanks Russel."

"You know my name? Are you real? Am I tripping out?"

That soul melting smile again, followed by a laughter so haunting it sends chills up and down your body, but the moment the chills leave miss them.

"Yes, I know your name. Yes, you are tripping, and I am the realest thing you will ever hope to meet."

I was never sure what she meant by those words, at that moment, but I didn't care. I was so fixed on her at that moment, I couldn't focus on anything else. She started to dance again, and my eyes were pulled to her every movement. It was almost as thought she could anticipate the music, each move she made complimented the songs that were being played. I just sat down and stared.

"Your working those songs."

Two for two, I can admit it, I am not exactly Robbie Burns. I may not have always been able to articulate in myself in a manner more appropriate to my situations, with exception to the recount of this event, but I always seemed to get by. I stood up, for reasons to me then I am unclear, for the music did not call for the following actions, took her by the hand and began to dance with her. You ever hear of astral projection? Its a theory that passes along the idea that there are people out there with the ability to have their soul leave their body and travel elsewhere in the world. People claim that they have been able to see places that they themselves have never been to. I have never been to sure on this phenomena myself, but I can tell you at that very moment I felt as though I was leaving my body. I looked down to see myself no longer standing on the platform, but instead watching the statue tumbling to the ground, myself, alone, on the outstretched hands of the twisted giant sculpture, a smile on my face, almost in a state of euphoria, or some sick kind of pleasure from my impending doom. I watched as the sculpture crashed into the ground, as hundreds fell to its weight, my body being tossed, broken and mangled, the smile never leaving. I looked back to the woman, who stood looking at me, a smile still on her face as we floated back to the ground amongst the chaos, separate from it all and amidst it all. From the panicking crowd walked a large Irish Wolfhound, thick black shaggy fur, embers wafting up from each animated clump of hair. The beast's eyes glowed with the soft glow of an active ember, and sulfurous smoke danced up from its nose. paw prints burnt into the dessert floor, leaving black char and shimmering glass with each step. The woman spoke.

"Russel, its time for you to go. A life filled with selfish pursuit's, you care only about yourself and re-obtaining your past. You ignored the poor, you ignored the needy, you ignored the downtrodden. You spent the entirety of your life seeking the next high, the next wave in free expression. And now this life has lead you to your final resting place." Her smile was gone, there was no laughter, only her job. " The Hound will take you where you need to go."

The dog was suddenly so much more imposing, I didn't run, I couldn't, you don't run from death, and there is no escaping the toll. She was right, I squandered my time with self pursuits, and now I am paying for them. Forced to re-live every mistake, every blunder, every lost chance, lashed with my transgressions, flogged with my shortcomings. Forced to watch my death over and over again, how I was pulled into a trap and how it sprung. How my lusts and selfish desires lured me in and snagged me. And now that I have reached the end, there is no relent, I must now go over them again, in new detail, in new revelation.