The night can be dark, full of solitary indecision and regret. The nomad wishes he were walking. He who dreams of seeing open skies.

What is there to say about the dreamer who sits, Does nothing in reverence of great beauty. The less intelligent of wise men say that any who do not step, for one reason or the other should be dubbed a coward.

Though to act so swiftly is only to add wax to the slope of mindless development.  Ever downward in its perpetuation.

Bold is he or she who takes the first step.

Brave those that take the second.


Is he or she who waits to step. With time to wait and wonder.

All still walk the same line

By many different paths.

The nomad... the true soul beyond boarders. With no home... and still the greatest, grandest most magnificent home to behold. To see through the nomad's

eyes is to truly experienced. For all who see live. And all of the living see though in their own way. in darkness or light.

No perspective is the same. Know the nomad's story and know it go be true that existence, in its many faces, though in different shapes, creed and carbons...

All is different, in the way that it is the same.

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