We're all wanderers, migrants of the past towards unknown presents and forever away futures. What is there for us in this place? What can open our eyes...free us?

There is a lake in a dark and cold place, whose waters bend with the trees themselves, bleeding out miracles, a strange surface of light. You can walk on the waters if you choose to, but the truth will always be beneath the surface.

We bind ourselves to this world when we close our eyes. Rejecting the depths of what we are and what we can be. Siphoning our potential, and for what...? To plod in the shallows and beat ourselves on the waves?

What life are we living, being this way? Rejecting ourselves of revelation, denying ourselves inspiration? Are we truly alive, or is it the chains that bind us which lives for us now?

The moon has one of our answers, and only the wounded and still can see it. Go deeper.