Three hundred and sixty four nights ago, a door was opened. A new path. Our path. Sweet short seconds with my tangible god and a calm visit to a cannibals grave christened the beginning of our journey and filled the New halls with warm light. I remember sitting in the low light on the hotel room floor as the other three found sleep, scribing as I am now. As I basked in the warm glow of new beginnings, I thought that our path was crafted purely by our plans. That wasn't so.

Progress greeted us in a series of great, life altering tragedies in the months that followed. In the devastation, I was able to salvage a simple truth; pathways are not crafted by any plans. Nor fate. Nor luck. Rather, all these things entwine and combine to create a destination. With that destination, comes purpose.

Simply put: blind destiny cannot propel one to some optimal haven, nor can even the most fervent planning. Together, they paint their own picture, a path. As for optimal, only wanting makes it so. There is a beauty in this realization.

Calm elevation has found me and I intend on holding tightly to it. In twenty five nights I will watch this frigid decade die and absorb all the bittersweet implications of that. For now, I'll let myself relish in the spoils.

Expose yourself...

Destroy Once Done