The grass, neatly cut away 'round each stone, whispered to us in the wind-sped air.

"What's your choice? Which head of the hydra seems likely to make the best use of your scrawny bones?"

Choice is built from hidden questions: what's inside, what's outside, what do I really want, what do I really need, what do I really mean... what should I do?

I stood with five alive and a seventh deceased beneath, amidst a sea of graveyard markers. On the surface of a dead city of dead Jews, I listened to the lives surrounding us, arcs of motion struck from the sky, choices once made in tears and joy and flicks of wrist now cut and dry.

"Time re-defines all discrete things."

Born into this whip-bit whorl of energy, we draw force for growth. We spin and set in motion, as we were spun and set in motion ourselves. Every action continues the threads of choice. We reach into the connectedness, spin and weave, until finally we've touched more than taken, wrought more than destroyed, and exit the way we came.

If you love something, place it in the center of your chest.

If you've a vision to create, a sonic realm to make, a world to build, a word to fulfill, let it brightly burn.

If you aren't but know you can, begin today and do not rest.

If your feet follow one path and your heart another, the wilderness is waiting for your return.

The dead speak through wind, grass, rain. They act now in sequences of ideas set in motion by their hands and the hands of those from whom they came. We're created from their thoughts, their actions, their material shape. If you listen and look, you will learn: humanity is not a race, but perpetual conversation, each voice assuming ever-shifting place.

Let's cut to the chase and cut to the choice. This is your life to make, and soon chance will end. You'll join the city beneath while others act in your stead.

"Why do you wait?"

Choose and do, today.