We all watch the cacti flowers bloom under the atomic moon, and dance in the neon limelight. There cannot be much beyond this golden light we’ve entangled ourselves in; this must be the end of the universe, and yet the land stretches for miles into the darkness, wrapping around the mangled dark country of the desert, a wasteland of shrubbery and red-rock.  Our existence is a tangle of contradictions and yet we carry on, endlessly, under the pale moonlight and sprinkling of stars. We pray for change with out hearts, but know nothing will happen unless we act from our own hearts.

We play, we dance, we sing, and we question what it all means. And when we cease to find clear answers, we breathe in the night air and remember the steady beating of our hearts, since some such transient things as the beating of our hearts feel so immortal and precious to our mortal souls.