Chapter 1 

When I'm at my fathers house I suddenly realize how much a part of me all this is; the great stark grey tree sprawling into the hot blue sky, the dominace of the thing and how the trees, the beauty, the house, the traffic sounds from the only thoroughfare in the two, the barking dogs and yes, my father, how much a part of me all this is. The words spoken. Things seen.

Here was childhood. Reality was what one dreamed and lived out. There were the dreams and then the living out of the dream. There were the secrets of gold and pirates, buried treasure and monsters. The imagination was free and our bodies were one with our dreams; dreams of conquest, bravery, heroism, romance, phantasmagorical schemes and inventions, terrors.

Childhood, after all, is the divine animal come to emobdy its need for pure adventure; an animal is complete and lives out its completness in whatever life is alloted to it. Human beings can only complete themselves through meaning. This is the great task is it not?

I can remember, even this early on, a few fleeting glances of things that were native to my spirit before ambition appearsed. But once ambition appeared and snaked its way through the brain one has already accepted the process. The rut of these thoughts.

David Eide
January 24, 2014