The firmness of form, these earthly roots that are keeping me in one place – you might think I resent them, I, the son of the wind.
But no chains have been put on my mind.
What my physical eyes register as real is a starting point. A starting point that I have been given to weave a story.
I am not mad at reality – I love it. I love the assignment, I love the challenge.
What stories will I tell, confined in these circumstances? How much of my mind can I change?
How can I, starting from hardships and strife, shift into wonder and amusement with life?
Spirit of Tara 