My Shangrila? Perhaps a harp solo with the drone of wistful tenor sax accompaniment? The impact of a drum setting the proper tone. The experience thus far in life weeded of the worst I have been leaving semi-denuded soil for something better to take hold? A place where people still care for me and I them. A place not so easily taken up with the madness of the moment that I have lost but hope to find once again. The lesson learned always when it is too late of that which is worth hanging on to long discarded but dreamt of night after nigh after night. That region where aches and pains drift and die off and one is young again. A moment in the sand when everyone else is brought to the same instant by that crossroads of understanding. Being in the skin of another and having some empathy for how they came about to feel the way they do. A flicker of fleeting possibility that one is still capable of grabbing onto before it is completely dead. The sonorous voices of a chorus whose haunting range still moves the heart to want ascend to better things. All this and so much more that I still hope to find anew. My Shangrila.