From Chapter IV: Coyote’s Cave
I kept the horse moving, the reins knotted around the saddle horn. Motion, at least, I could still be aware of, though barely, as I receded down within myself, before thought, before sense, before even body to some core that still knew itself as core, as self, without language or understanding. I returned, I think now, to beginnings, and found even there some further depth.
Eventually—or so I think; I had no way of measuring, of saying eventually, or feeling a need to say it; I say it now—eventually I felt shade. The horse kept going, and I hoped it would move toward water.