I had come to the Port on the Ship. I had stood with my fellow passengers upon her bow, rising high and white above the water as we entered the harbor; then at mid-day I, like the other passengers, wasted no time in descending the broad gangways where we were met by the welcoming locals who greeted us by placing garlands of flowers on our heads and toasting us with spiced drinks of local creation. For hours I had wandered the streets of that magnificent port. Once it had been the vanguard of a mighty empire now long forgotten but today it was a place of exotic beauty, a place where all the ships of the world came to trade and to mingle and to exchange stories of the myriad sights they had seen and the many novelties they had encountered so that all the world would know the secrets beyond their own horizon. I became enraptured of the Port. All day I had explored its myriad winding streets, engrossed by the aromas of exotic spices, the tastes of unknown languages, the colors of foods I had never seen and the touch and taste of alien but strangely beautiful woman. So when it was time for us to return to the Ship for the evening I remained behind in the port, for the Ship was not due to depart until long after the next sunrise and thus I knew that I would have time to continue to sample the novel

I awaken on the floor, cold linoleum against my flesh, surrounded by the smudged ink marks that mark my latest attempts at understanding. For a long time I lie there, patterns running through my mind, until the needs of my body are able to intrude upon the ever closer to perfect arrangements I am making. I am hungry, and the physical needs exceeds the mental. I regret losing the pattern I have created but I let it fade back into my mind and stand up. I stumble to the kitchen but am unable to find the nourishment I need. Empty packages and unwashed eating implements are scattered about, their surfaces mottled with the odd, semi-random patterns of mold and decay. I ignore them; I have examined their patterns long ago and find them lacking. I briefly consider the trails of the ants streaming across the counter, watching as they morph and wander in predictable but still random motion but they too I have previously considered and found unable to produce the true patterning I need. I realize that I must leave my place of safety and venture again into the world of others. Into that realm where man has forced existence into plain, orderly patterns that inhibit the growth of true beauty. I stumble into my long-ignored bedroom in search of appropriate clothing. I ponder long over my choice in what to wear, searching for those items which will exist in the necessarily exquisite harmony with one another. Of course

I had come down to the sea. Why I no longer remember. What I do remember is that I swam out away from the shore, far enough out that the sea stretched to the horizon and the swells blocked the shore from my sight so that I was alone in the blue-green waters. I dove beneath the surface and saw that there was the surface of another sea beneath me, waves crashing on the rocks of an underwater shoreline. I somehow perceived that this was the surface of an ancient sea from long ago and that I was above its ancient shoreline. I was swimming through the air above that ancient sea and this air was different from the air above me. It was newer air, air that had not been breathed by countless generations of creatures and so still retained all of its vitality. Though I was beneath my own sea I could breath the air of this ancient time and so swam out to explore this ancient sea. For a long time I swam along this shoreline, watching the waves break against the rocks of a strangely barren land. Then, I reached a point where I could see objects far out to sea and I, desiring a change from the endless rocks, breaking waves and empty beach, swam towards them to see what they were. I discovered the towers of a city, rising from the ancient sea which broke with increasing ferocity about them. The towers were of