Ground zero. I sit, looking at the sky, with the wiry tops of the trees around me forming a border in my vision. I imagine a hawk, circling me as I sit on the desert rocks, the wind occasionally whipping across the exposed surface. The sun rides overhead, hovering there as if expecting an answer. I give none.
From this point I can see all around me. Hundreds of miles pour into the distance like waterfalls of stone. I yearn to move with them, cascade with them, but my eyes cannot discern the direction of my path. As I squint I struggle against, but then let myself drift into a current. With my eyes shut I feel a pull of my body and my soul, like a feather taken by the wind that dances against my skin. For now I align, with the truth that resides within.
The answer we seek cannot be found, no matter how long or how far our eyes dart around. To uncover it with thought would simply imply, that it came from a choice, with a reason why. We don't choose who we are and may never know why, so I choose to follow my compass and see where it leads, before I become dust and die.
The desert plants crumple under my feet, I feel my form moving under the sun's noon heat. A shape, a shadow, yet far more real, and far less hollow. No thought could contend with the silence that follows, consumed by the movement, the hunger I've borrowed. I become a symbol, a rider in the sky. This compass points me to something eternal, something that cannot die.
