The path ahead was made by fire.
The pain of its heat, the burn of the evolving is that which churns the new.
I read about a man who pulled a 92 pound Petoskey stone out of Lake Michigan. How had that mass made its way to the surface? How many centuries had pushed it forth? What sort of conflagration pushed it upward and out?
I showed you pictures of Etna erupting. It belched fearless. We looked at the powerfully lit emanations of a tectonic mountain. We saw heat that was a tephric unguent. We saw the surface of the earth burned and singed by material that had once been beneath, and the landscape was made new. Generations flowing from depths unseen, in an intractable ascent.
Potential unearthed by explosions of change.
May I always bow beneath your fire.
May I walk the path ahead.