Not all oasis are in the desert and made of sand. Some are located in other in-between pockets of nowhere, composed of dirt and rock. Some of flesh and bone. Some of song and emotion. Something to bear in mind. I once marched out of the desert badlands into an African night to collect a kiss. That was my water and ambrosia, but my thirst has yet to be slaked.
The sun rises and sets regardless. The universe continues whether or not you're there to witness it. Possibilities are endless. Something or nothing, some might say. I'm not very good with black and white absolutes, instead seeing the beauty of Grey. The twilight and varying degrees of light and shadow. Some say my third eye is open, but I know it occasionally hallucinates. It makes me wonder who the more damned is; the one who sees all things and phantasms? Or the tragically blind? But perhaps it doesn't matter.