We are the wanderers

We are the wanderers. We spend our lives staring at the self-chosen few who cast their message to the world: "We have found the right direction." But few have. And even those who do find it are often filled with doubt, shaking their compasses and beseeching their unrelenting maps for ways around the mountains—or under them.

We are the hurried. Some run with reckless speed to hide from the world around them; cloaking the all-present enemy in a cloud of blurred out statements and unintelligible shapes. But their running only speeds them to the finish-line of realization and, tripping over their weakened false perceptions, they coming crashing to a halt in front of their small pile of hopes and accomplishments.

We are the fearful. Some cling to their surroundings, seeking to paint them on the canvas of permanence. But they, too, find their worlds tipped sideways; their paintings diluted and washed away by the rain that is time. Nothing stays but the wandering…

"Listen to me...
Hear what I have to say...
I can tell you something you’ve never heard before...
I can make you listen...
Stare at me...
I have found the right direction..."


...We are the wanderers.