Herein lies the memoirs and memories of a Soul
who sought something else: something different for himself than
what others receive.  He first found his calling after
he had worked on it’s goal for sometime.  It’s more that
he realized his goal only after he inadvertently started
down the path towards it.  But keep in mind that the ends
still don’t justify the means; even for a pilgrim.  And
neither are things always what they seem or say.  That should go
without saying.  Take caution not to fall into the crusader’s
snares or the pilgrim’s traps.  Be critical in thought. Reject some.
Reject.

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I am a hermit.  I am on a quest.  I seek that which has naught been sought before my time was wrought.  I ponder that which ponder most, indulge in that which indulges least, and sign the songs sung slowly fast.  I am a visionary in a field of illusion, desperately driving out the divinations of the nation.  Fielding the questions left to right, right to left, day in and night out, out into inner sight.  I am wandering through the shallows of thought, thinking thoughts that I should not.  Most would say that I bring my own pain; that there is no gain from such lame attempts at reconciliation through my indignation with the nation.  I face these contraceptive measures with unflinching determination.  I represent those that have dared to wince at the sight of a new born child; the ones that grimace in the presence of a first flower bloomed mild; the few that all too well knew that the end doesn’t justify the beauty, the means aren’t worth the hill.  They feed me this pill, pink and packaged perfectly: individually different, but still the same pill in the same package, and packed so perfectly.  I am a hermit.  I reject this reality.  There is but one thing that I seek so surely.  I see this end in my scope of horizon.  I am allotted all that I am always aware of.  I am given this gift but grab at it, I must.  I have to journey across the Fields of the Midnight Maiden.  I have to suffer her terrible stance: In her unmoving certainty I find courage to carry on.  As the blurring rain beats rhythm on my sunken head, my sunken eyes from lack of sleep or rest, my task becomes clearer to my blinded eyes.  I must travel to find my replacement for that packed perfection that I reject.  I reject.  I am a hermit.  I am on a quest.

It begins.