Preface.

  What haze have I breathed, what delusion have I soaked, to bring you this unripe ambition of mine? Hold no bated breath over a quick fruition, reader, for I toil slower than a scatter-brained sloth in winter time. Nevertheless, with hope, and knowing how far one seed can grow, I till my inner grounds with a share of insight: I bore in glimpse as I pondered this theme: Loch Ness Monster of the soul, the mind of one grappling their shadow by apparition wrestled.

  Though its detail is a blur, and the form buried in horizon, here is my vision to you:  "Out the eye, our mind lives out tale. Truth and lie, we process by the subjection of our senses against the world. What comes when our world shifts into a strange hue, whose nature falters our lens as we fail to grasp the beyond bleeding into the here and now? Madness, surely, unless our psyche learns to adapt inward, so to survive whichever spirit is filling our vision at the time

  "Behold a lake, and rising out it a monster of ethereal plane. Behold a brain, whose torments are deep waters whose tides will brew into a terrible typhoon at the stir of a repressed shadow emerging in form of a dreadful beast. Journey with me, as a soul encounters its devil, and see the Loch of the Iris."