My beliefs are truths that have been formed by a constant trickle of thoughts through my mind, depositing their positive, negative and indifferent impressions as they run through, like stalactites and stalagmites in your head, like roses with thorns.
What happens if the thorns prick me and I bleed. What am I bleeding? Despair, angst, hope, miraculous impossibilities?
What do I see when I look?