We are custom made. Custom made for this place, from this place. What we know, who we are, what we think, indigenous. Springing up from the core, squeezing through the rocks, out of the mud. Primordial scream! Our senses, how we relate predetermined by this place. Every fiber of our being determined by a mote of dust lost in infinity. Programmed by uncertainty. Following instincts layered onto our souls. Believing we are free. Free in a prison, a preprogrammed prison on a mote in a void. Life in a drop of water. All we consider significant isn’t. Here, is where we bubbled up. Here, is where we’ll dry up. A puff of dust in the breeze. A blow to the ego this is. A little more humility surely applies.