The height shouldn’t be the target, it can be the aim, but as above so below, East to West, which direction you ripple, like a rolling stone, should be according to the direction, live, laugh, love, desire, the source of suffering, humanity and god, can survive, and be satisfied with so little, and everyone gets fed in hell, your compass and what you hold dear, all your reactions to each little fear, a life lived honestly, through the tangled bushes, stroll along and pluck berries, suckle, and savor the juices, in the vast expanse of space and time, the sky covers her chest, reach for it, the mountain peak, caress the tips, in the long-run, that long and winding road, the journey through the valley, the river flows, caress the line of it, breathe in the stench, a flower blooms, such soft petals, give it a kiss, allow yourself this, and become free, the long road, you went all this way, and it amounts to this, may your burden be light, and with the full moon in the sky, as heaven’s gates open, your love for your mother, burning fiercely, pray at her altar, Helen of Troy, she beckons, offer her everything…

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.