Ground Running

I hope my work is worth my being here, and worth the costs that my creator paid. For me no lark, this life demands I steer the course it takes to climb the conscious grade. Self awareness bides no shifting floor that jerks ones steady focus to and fro. Distractions and reactions are the oar by which we row off course. Complete guano, the remedies religions specify, are meant for those without a love of thought. Stained glass and frescos sell an indoor sky, to sleepy dreamers, zonked in Camelot. To miss the mark in life, is not a crime, but dawdling in the dead ends, kills your time.