Once again we climb. We are not the shrinking kind — we face and we persevere. We claw and bleed and claw again. And sometimes there is a breath that leads us to ourselves.
Where does the truth lie? Is it nestled between the blades of grass in the ancient dirt of my homeland? Is it in the dust particles swirling in the setting sun onto the piano keys?
Tears and toil and terror are all guides. They blaze the path with their specific signatures which we can decipher only after we have seen ourselves.
Glory be to those who walk this path recognizing the mountain and the tree and the wind. They will inherit the earth and the heavens once they have tasted their solitary return.