... the one landscape that we, the inconstant ones,
Are consistently homesick for... 

The blessed will not care what angle they are regarded from,
Having nothing to hide. Dear, I know nothing of
Either, but when I try to imagine a faultless love
Or the life to come, what I hear is the murmur
Of underground streams...

// WH Auden




Dreamland is making me ill. bring me to Real, the land of the living. mercy