Stand firm young explorer, our reality is before your eyes. The path of least resistance comes and goes with the reading of the signs. Do not reach beyond their grasp dear astronaut, for you can only hold what you must. And your disinclined stance may start to sway, towards a book of spiritual trust. A compass of lost translation, which has been tattered by the evolution of our time. Sown together by imperfect hands and tongues, of the righteously divine.  Or instead you stumble towards numbered texts and the collection of mans thoughts. Classified, organized, and defined in complex logical knots. A thorn bush of intricate perceptions of our multifaceted human condition, subjected to nothing more than our screaming birth and our timely decomposition. But fear not my naive trekker, for the decision is yours to hold. Either with nail in hand or the hammer made ready, may your heart be ever so bold. And though the philosophical plates of these worlds seem to diverge from once connected fates, the heavens you come to find as a result may be behind different gates. Only you hold the key to open your ever changing mind, one carved by humble carpenter hand or molded by mankind. So step lively youthful sailor for the winds are at your back, and the house from which you build your truth comes of brick or with cross-bared plaque. Worry not of your inaction little voyager, for the world will not react. The world remains in constant motion, and will force you to interact. Whether several days of creation must pass or a bang of creative juice, it is you who must chose to dive in the water or walk above man’s made truth. So good luck my inexperienced hiker as the waves of decision roll in. May the solace you find in the choices you make be without regrettable sin. I pray the stars you look to at night point you toward your goal, and that you find a balanced understanding of the earth and your spiritual soul.