The journey of our lives unfolds like a dance across an ever-changing horizon, revealing both familiar and uncharted paths. Throughout this expedition, we encounter various rivers—some surge wildly, driven by the raw energy of our emotions, while others flow gently, offering a serene refuge. Each river tells its own story; some run deep, carrying the weight of our experiences, while others bubble over, effervescent with the memories and moments that shape us. 

In quiet moments of solitude, we reflect on the complexities of our journeys, contemplating what to reveal and what to keep hidden from the curious shadows of our past. These echoes of history never truly rest; they entwine with us like whispers in the night, following us as we move forward. The Keeper of Time does not carry the baggage of the past…we take that load by choice and circumstance. Every choice we make reverberates through time, an echo guiding us toward a narrative of purpose that waits to be discovered. 

Their quests challenge two young men on separate yet connected journeys for atonement and redemption on a path in stone and sea charted centuries before. One’s future is brushed in ink along a winding pathway to a lighthouse, each step taken in the lurking shadow of the remnants of our struggles…our past. Shadowy forces in darkness and light watch to see if we will summit or fall on jagged rocks. A piercing Blue Light beams on November nights. Will it fall upon our soul? 

Tonight, it continued unabated. A dark, daunting ritual of the past few months, lying alone in a bed tethered to a hidden room. The steady, hypnotic spin of my companion, this ceiling fan, marks the endless passage of my time. Its gentle breeze washes over, its buzz a metronome marking the music of its time. The fan’s long, thin, silver chain dangles, its links catching in the moonlight. Before me, its hypnotic sway meant to adjust the speed or, perhaps, to mesmerize me with its rhythmic tinkling. I’m wondering aloud, as I need to speak to someone, as my friends are in a desert right now. 

“If I pull it three times, each tug would be an attempt to erase my past errors. Two quick pulls and, hopefully, the memories of the past few months would leave like smoke, leaving behind only a hazy trace. Is that possible?”