Time becomes compressed, and we arrive at a point where we understand that we need to make choices about how we will spend the remainder of our seconds. What actions are the most important? What will we attempt to cultivate and focus upon? What will we walk away from? We must open our fists and let it fall to the ground.
You can't have it all. This is a fact. Try contemplating that from the perspective of how many years you might have left.
When a message such as this is received in middle age, it is a relief.
No one tells you this when you're young, that you just won't care. Where are our elders who might find a memory to explain this quixotic corner of temporal existence?
Exiled?
We have lost access to the weirdest forms of tangled wisdom that passing through deep time brings.
One of the great rewards of ancestral work is the Eldritch knowledge. Bountiful, free-flowing truth that cuts. I love it. It has a distinct quality, akin to reading a living, breathing book or breathing oxygen in Eden.
