It seems that I’ve come alive only in these past few months, yet when these events first began, I was staggered. Even now, at times, I doubt my sanity. Yet what has happened so far has given me glimpses into the undersides of reality, and these only make the topsides that much more miraculous.

For the record, let me state that I’ve taken no drugs of any kind. Nothing that I know of initiated the adventure in which I’m now involved. These notes, written in the daytime, represent my attempt to relate my activities in dimensions of which most people are completely unaware.

So far I’ve managed to return to normal daytime living, but I have no guarantee that this will always be the case, particularly since I’ve encountered difficulties at times of a certain undefinable nature. Again—so far—I’ve retained my normal conscious stance in the reality accepted by everyone else. But I do grow aware of a precarious balance.

As long as I write these notes and read those that I’ve written before, then I’ll know that I’ve returned safely from those equally valid realms. If I decide not to return, then I’ll record my decision here, so that anyone interested will know that my exodus was voluntary, not the result of coercion, or worse, error or carelessness on my part. Particularly if my ex-wife, Sarah, ever reads these notes, I wouldn’t want her to imagine me trying to claw my way back from an underside of reality that she could not understand.

Perhaps I should mention here that I’m a psychologist. My degrees alone will at least ensure that these notes get a reading. (B.A. at Cornell, master’s and doctorate in behavioral psychology at Harvard.) To those who still recognize such ludicrous badges of erudition I say, “Hear me out. By your own standards, I have a right to your recognition.” To those who think that degrees are primarily signs of ritualized ignorance I say, “I’m on your side.” But I spent many years acquiring such status, and I may as well take advantage of it in that academia to which I no longer belong.

I should also tell you that I’m thirty-six years old, and still partially distrust that part of me over thirty. My ex-wife lives on the other side of the continent, remarried practically if not legally, and pregnant with her first child. I was trying to make up my mind as to whether or not I wanted to grow a human being in this crazy garden of existence. Sarah, apparently, got tired of waiting, and took up with another, more willing package of seed. So I was living alone when these events began.