Books invite all, they constrain none.Today as I waded in the bath, enjoying solitude and the sonorous raindrops, I decided to get some reading done. After all, I will be resuming my studies in another month. So, I may well prepare my brain for the tasks of cognition. The literature selected? Dancing Naked at the Edge of Dawn by Kris Radish. 327 pages of (I have devoured 62) a woman’s journey from misery into enlightenment. What provokes it? She decides to witness her husband making love to another woman in her bed after coming home unexpectedly. She does not watch out of merely voyeurism. She, in her words, is curious. Curious of what, I do not know. Curious of the passion that no longer consumes her equates as my guess. All fiction roots from fact. Even if the author did not experience this, she is telling the story of someone who has lived it. Isabel Allende recounted that after she wrote Of Love and Shadows, a man approached her and shared the identical details of his life to the story. I am nowhere near finished with the book but I hope that I will be as satisfied with the ending as I am with the beginning.