Sonetime fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change directions but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and Over you play this out, like some ominous dance with the death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn'nt something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is to give in to it, step right inside the sandstorm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverizes bones.

That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical,
symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no
mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand blades. People will
bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in
your hands, your own blood and the bloods of others.

And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through...

How you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is
really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't
be the same people who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.