09-01-2019, 06:50 AM
Wandering is like working in a mine. It's very dark but I have this wobbly light on my head that erratically illuminates the 18 inches in front of me, enough that I don't smash my face into rocks too often but not enough to really know what's going on. Once in a while I find a flake of gold, and I sit in this dark pit and weep over its resplendance and all it reminds me of.
(And this is why, after many years of mining this greasy hole, I treasure the Ra material, Don, Carla, Jim and the Confederation. This is no little flake but a great vein and its radiance is overwhelming.)
(And this is why, after many years of mining this greasy hole, I treasure the Ra material, Don, Carla, Jim and the Confederation. This is no little flake but a great vein and its radiance is overwhelming.)