Some wounds never heal so we survive as best we can, as what we are, machines in disrepair. From orphanage to asylum, Baxter Bishop is left to exist in a world turned against him. With a psyche torn apart by self-doubt and remorse, he discovers an unexpected revelation concerning the fate of his parents that changes everything he knew. Our imagination, the ability to escape from the world and create form from the abstract, is what separates us from the rest of nature. Is it, therefore, our obligation to embrace, if not celebrate, these gifted differences? And if so, how should we celebrate? The irrepressible lawlessness of our dreams is an undeniable aspect of their nature. They place us in unimaginable situations and ask us to perform impossible actions. But what are they telling us? Are they arbitrary? Random lashings from a paint brush with no rhyme or reason to its stroke? Or is their seeming entropy but organization of a more celestial order? Like the waves of the sea, where even men of science must recognize that their perfect and immortal patterns transcend all anthropological assessment.