Gullying is sacred. There’s no higher union of the spiritual and the physical than in the gentle art of throwing one’s self off the top of a cliff. Gullying is the ultimate transcendentalism. It doesn’t even get close to making sense. It’s a symbol of the deepest urges of the human soul to cartwheel disrespectfully into some other reality. It grants release via gravity. In Newtonian terms it’s an attempt to reap magic from the obscene sterility of accurate calculation coupled with obsessive descent. In Einsteinian terms it is neither wave nor particle. It not only is and isn’t, but it also might be. It’s simply beyond the current paradigm. Gullying is a symptom of an overdue manifestation in a parallel universe. It’s a form of cosmic spill, a link to another reality just beyond the dunes. A universe where rats really are pigs! Where we really can fly.