Sometimes it seems as if the slate will never be clean. Can we ever truly start over? When does the trail of our lives end? Or, is it ever possible to look back and see far away to the Eden that was once ours? The beginning of our soul lives, the purity of our ancestral longing and a spirit so pure as to be invisible—is it there?

What future do we hold to give away to those who follow? What time will we spend seeking the sunshine ridges of our youth? Not the old which can never be recaptured, but the new with faces turned into the wind to seek new mountains, new valleys, new ways of thinking and new music played on instruments yet to be created. New joy beyond, just there…just there… wafting above ground to the pilgrimage of the future, carried past what was into the unknown. What is it that we will create for ourselves?

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