As I walked my way down the mountain, I had more than enough time to consider what I needed to do to survive. Gaining experience and understanding of my place within this plane, and seeking a way to mend the wounds I created by my actions, those things will not cloth, bath, or feed me. They were the impetus of my leaving the mountain top, but I also needed to just live.

The daily toil of maintaining oneself and one’s surroundings are just as important as my moral balance. My guardian often told me that to balance myself in the essence, I needed to balance myself in my daily life.

As I make my way through the clouded trails around the mountain, I can see the glimpses of the valleys below me. From a thousand meters up it looks peaceful. In a sense this is my moral balance. A thousand meters viewpoint of an ideal. Yet, in the valley, on the ground, there is activity everywhere. The essence moves. It’s chaos at this height.

A few years ago, as we both made our way down the same trail, my guardian asked me to follow a single stream of earth essence. Follow the essence from the shear cliffs of the mountain, to the banks of a stream. He very pointedly asked that I not lose track of the essence.

I started with a single mote of essence. The smallest quantity my young mind could see. I followed it 10m before a small earth Parity squirrel picked it up to use as part of its nest in the mountain side.

I followed the next mote. This one didn’t even make it a meter before it was absorbed back into the mountain. How it was absorbed, I didn’t know at the time, but it wasn’t an important question for this trip…it could wait. The next mote made it to the base of the mountain. The mote after that was absorbed by a roc. This went on for hours as we descended. Each mote had a different path, a different direction. The majority, however, moved to the river. When I pulled my vision back, I could see the flow to the river, building up and solidifying the banks and rocks within the river.

When I reported my observations to my guardian, he chuckled in his way, and then asked me a bigger question. Are the motes of essences individuals? Does each mote have its own existence, like a human? From this mountain trail, looking down at the motes of essence, it is hard to answer. Did the mote want to become part of the squirrels home? Did other motes want to become part of the river bank? Or, was this just fate rolling essence down a mountain and watching where they go. Did the voice of an essence control its motes, and push them towards their purpose. Did a mote, once used as a squirrel home, stay there for eternity? Was it reabsorbed back into the whole, or was it never part of the whole to begin with. And how does all this relate to humanity here. Are each of us flowing down a mountain looking to feed and house a squirrel?

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I spent many trips up and down the mountain thinking on those things. I can’t say I accomplished much, but my guardian pushed, "...that thinking of those things can solidify a viewpoint". And, the moment I find my viewpoint solidified, I should immediately change how I am thinking and reassess.

When I look back at the trips up and down the mountain, I find that my anger and guilt has become more tempered with time. When I started to feel the power of the essences, I wanted to go out on a revenge spree, killing the ruling family and anyone involved in the murder of my father. And, just as I was going to take the first steps, I would change my viewpoint, the guilt of all the deaths I caused would reverberate and the cycle would start again. I gained perspective with time. I don’t have the experience to predict the actions of royals, or the common man, but I don’t think living just for revenge will gain me any understanding.

As I reached the bottom of the mountain, I had decided to leave my choice of direction up to the essences. I could go to my old home, or I could go to my old village. I knew vaguely that both existed. The essences would whisper at times. The whispers of butterflies are still something I can only hear in fragments. They did tell me that the village was moving large amounts of earth essence. I would guess this was for village walls.

The home, on the other hand, seemed to be abandoned…but not always. There was some occasional activity that was large enough for me to notice. Since it was closer, I could tell it was mostly water and earth essences. Maybe my brothers or sister were using it as second home, I don’t know.

My mother…I know she died at some point. I don’t know how, or why, or even when. It was a subtle thing. I don’t have enough experience to form an association that would make sense. The closest I have come to, is walking a trail everyday that is shaded mostly by a large tree. As time goes by, the other trees grow and the shade becomes a little deeper, and you no longer notice the large tree as an individual. One day there are bright patches of sunlight in that section of the trail. As you look around, you notice that the large tree has fallen from a storm, exposing the trail to new patches of sunlight. This was how I knew my mother had died.

As my steps led away from the mountain, I found myself heading for my home. I could probably be there by the end of the day.