All right – I shall admit it. This is what I do nearly every night. Everyday too, almost. My imagination finds me standing in the middle of nowhere (or somewhere, if you would like). It is definitely a barren land that bears no fruit and offspring, because in my longing for quietness and alone-ness, there is no one else.
It is the tipping point of the id, the breaking line between ego and the superego. Where the self is able to completely perceive the presence of every Tom, Dick, and Harry out there… but does not give a damn.