If you would have told me that only a few months ago, I would be embarking on what would be one of the most intense, challenging, and immensely dark periods of my “Adult Life” at the age of 25 years old, I would have disregarded every word that rolled from your mouth. Standing in my loving job, surrounded by the comforts of friends and the peace of loose leaf tea steeping, vibrant and inviting aromas filling the space around me, I would have thought of my mate waiting ecstatically for me to arrive home, arms open, cheeks flushed red, eager to pelt me with little happy punches and kisses all at once. Kindly, I would have rejected you and your energy and passively eyed the door, your hint to carry on.
If by chance a note was found on my doorstep, warning me that the most trans-formative, beautifully scripted by cosmic design entwining, soul shifting relationship I have EVER and likely will EVER be blessed with, would, after ten years of lovingly orbiting one another, would leave me without a word or desire to ever see me again, giving me only a text message that held dreams of the future to come, I would have been stirred angry, physically triggered and viewing you as a literal enemy of my life, a threat violating scared ground with no concern for its own well-being.
Only three months ago, if you would have announced to me, calmly, quietly, that the job I so cherish day in and day out, the place where I aided spirits to settle, hearts to open, and created an atmosphere of tranquility and peace, would no longer be my career, and without any communication or reason known to me, would slowly push me out of its environment without a promise of return, I would have sipped my matcha tea with more vigor and delight, aided customers with more sincerity, resisting fully the impending path of fate being laid before me.
After all this time, if you would have said to me with knowing in your eyes, that a family abandoned and kept at bay, for five long years, five years taken for my own emotional, mental, and spiritual well-being, would be the very family and place I had to go, surrounded by the echos of what I once knew, only to find people I no longer knew and who no longer knew me, to live each day in a uncomfortable paradigm that shifted from past to present, I would have simply and firmly stated; never.
I would have looked around me, wrapped in the arms of my beloved, surrounded by warmth and the comforts of home, laughter and joy ringing out. Snuggled. Safe. Secure. I wouldn’t have been able to conceive it.
And finally, as the slow building hurricane of all that you had began to tell me, descended from the heavens upon my life, and as I looked up from the sudden hole I had begun to drift down into, pitch black, with only the slightest rays of light above shining down, you said to me through the thunder bellowing through the air, the pounding rain that now drenched everything, that the youngest of my three grandmothers would fall ill, and draw her last breath in a hospice bed in the weeks ahead, in the midst of everything I’d known for the last five years crumbling, I would have stretched forth what optimism I had left, wishing for the dream to end. Pleading to wake up. Pleading to slow down. I would have said to that voice,
“Go back to the fable you belong to, this is not my story, my hero does not face these challenges, I have been given all I have because I have earned it gratefully, begone!”
Alas, I would be wrong. For in fact, this was my life. In a matter of three months, I would lose my Twin Flame, in a sudden separation coupled with radio silence.
I would in fact, lose my exciting and passionate career as a loose leaf organic tea merchant.
I would go on to lose my safe place, my home, my privacy and daily life, my comforts, and be ushered into an uncomfortable re-connection with a estranged family, a cloud of failure and embarrassment over head.
And in the midst of everything, the youngest of my three grandmothers would suddenly become ill and pass away, leaving me with the regret of unspent time, loving memories, and an amethyst ring.
At the exact age of twenty-five, I am having a “quarter life crisis”
My Twin Flame. Not the over-sensationalized twin flame that you read about often on the internet or in cosmo-type articles, but my true twin, the one that awakens the twin within you. To have your most dearest and respected friend, leave your life is one of the most difficult challenges we often face in relationships. We form bonds of love and companionship with others, reveal ourselves with no limitations to these individuals, and when they leave for the many reasons they do, it can take a lot to stay positive and more forward. So let me tell you with complete and utter certainty, when the person that leaves your life is literally your oldest friend of ten years, who turned out to be the deepest love you’ve ever experienced, a love that transforms you from within a deep spiritual reservoir, inside out, a love that opens for the first time energetic channels that have laid dormant for the better parts of your life that once touched, blossom you into a new being, when that person leaves your life and you lose that connection, it will without a doubt destroy you. The mirror of my soul, my perfect song, in tune with my echo, the reflection of my very essence, my core. When you find this connection in life, it will begin to unfold the greatest transformations you will encounter in all your days to come, and you will know truly the meaning of coming home.
In my twin, for the first time I truly felt seen. Through and through, unable to hide anything from them; flaws, insecurities, ones deepest desires, ambitions, the hidden layers of self that are underdeveloped but always there, touched energy for the first time, for the first time abundant acceptance on every level. They become the mirror you look into, and that mirror reflects back to you all that it sees with a loving glow. It comes to life, and its smiling and vibrant, and can’t wait to reach out and hug you. Being with your twin is akin to hearing your name called for the first time, but with complete and total sincerity, warmth coupled with an encompassing mindfulness to all that you are, have been, can be. When my head laid in her arms, I was home.
When we hula-hooped together, or played video games, when we raced around the front yard in the early mornings or late at night dressed in sloth onesies, and when we woke up and made “together breakfast”, the meaning of my life seemed to be so simple, like finally, finally the universe was giving me all that I had been working so hard to see, my purpose clear as day: live and love side by side with your twin, experience moments together, and nurture one another so you may grow and grow. Tackle your demons together as they rise up, a natural element inherit to a twin flame relationship. Fight side by side to dust out all that was old and mucky, leaving no shadow passage to remain in the face of brilliant light. The benevolent power of the twin journey gifting you the challenge of what we called “emotional vomiting’, the natural purification that occurs when twins begin to mirror one another. But it was in the challenge we were finally bested.
After countless months, efforts big and small, and conversation, after all the sessions spent cuddling the pain away and licking each others wounds, the day of separation reared its ugly head, and the mirroring brought forth shadows of fear greater than the strength we had to combat them. Fear is the killer of the greatest opportunities in ones life. Fear will cause you to reject the very life and often love that we seek in the first place, clouding the mind with anxieties of “what ifs”, leaving you weak and dejected, leaving you to settle in life. Fear of true love and life vibrantly being lived separated us. It was as if all the battles fought together, for every moment that we had each others back, for every night of selfless comfort and gestures of friendship, we were brought but to the shadows line, with a new day and life just over the edge. So close, my hand could stretch out, and be warmed with the glow of the other side. Only to fall short of the final fight. The fear of leaving all she so rightfully had built for herself: her established place of work with a healthy clientele base, a home gifted by the universe, and in my eyes, sadly an unfulfilling marriage, for after one meets their twin, all else that is below the mighty evolution brought with the encounter begins to burn away. The last message I received from my twin was on April 1st, 2017 12:23am.
“Goodnight my soulmate. Thank you for being my faithful friend and partner, Wolfy. I’m so honored to begin this new chapter of life with you. Let’s grow stronger everyday and build a healthy family together.”
Later that afternoon, shortly after 12:00pm, the mirroring began, we argued over her unhappiness in her marriage, and upon confessing being more torn than ever on what to do, my mates fears drove the words from her lips,
“Wolfy, I love you, but I do not want you here.”
I was devastated. My faces in her hands, angry, confusion, fear radiating from her eyes that shown like a comets blaze across the night sky; I’ll never ever forget the way they looked, she was burning up. And in that moment, my mirror cracked. As suddenly as our bond had begun in life, the magnets that had always attracted us, switched, and our energy was replaced with repulsion instead. It pushed us further apart than we have ever been. I literally ran away, my feet carving earth with each step, more like paws on fire, a raging snarl cut with a howl escaping my chest.
The days after were bleak and anxious filled. An inability to communicate fell over us, unable to text a word, unable to dial a number, a deep knowing that something had shifted out of our hands, a great something that no matter how hard I swung my first towards would be unbeatable, unrecoverable.
The silence was maddening.
Minutes flowed by like a rampant river, slipping into an ocean of days that left my spirit inconsolable. I teetered between man and beast, inhuman swellings of rage that left my body hot and tensed, my blood literally seem to boil. I found myself unable to keep my thoughts from scratching the walls in my mind, a unhealthy feeling of amputation slowly taking apart of my heart, I felt the coming fissure of the void. Sleeping was little more than an effort to reduce the puppy-ish whines and whimpers escaping my snout, alone, confused, and with a heart sinking further and further into a blackness. I was falling down into a lake, the water dark and murky, just me, with nothing but the small bubbles of air escaping my lungs to witness. The light of day to far above to be anything but a shimmer in the vast abyss that was my spirits demise. I was drowning. Every tear that fell, left my body numb. Efforts of having hope, hope that time was all that was needed, and any moment now I would hear the ringtone go off, a small texting voice offering our bandage. They ended in broken expectations, and before long I entered into my own personal hell, my dark night of the soul.
Having moved out, I sought refuge in the training halls of the dojo, where I train Okinawan karate, three giant trash-bags filled with all my belongings. It was but a temporary solution to a sudden nightmare, but I found comfort in the scared space where I trained, the nights filled with words I remember from my sensei, to look to the training for answers. Still my mind was cast into a deep shadow. Feeling my twin’s waves of sorrow, the outside clamor of the street and bars filled the night air, where once the soft breathing of my mate hummed out. But I couldn’t stay there for long. Without a place to shower, or any cooking equipment at all, I would have to find shelter elsewhere in the world…I was truly alone and uncertain of where to go.
I made a call to my sister, whom I hadn’t spoken to in over five years, and very briefly she informed me that my grandmothers apartment was available to stay in for the moment, and that grandma had taken a nasty fall a few months ago, resulting in her staying at a rehabilitation center. Leaving the dojo, I found myself making my way to my grandmothers apartment. Empty of grandma but surely not her things, I slowly adopted her space into a small place I could call home. It took effort, and many nights feeling uncomfortable shifting in a bed that was foreign to me down to the floor, but grateful none the less.
My grandmother was a cheerful woman, and the youngest of three that I had; she was sixty five. She loved fantasy and magic, history and all things Egyptian. At an early age I found myself being introduced to my earliest exposures to the mystical realms, the creative pools of my spirit stirred and excited, my imagination stretched by the guidance and oversight of my grandmother. She was my friend. She loved the lord of the rings, and would often have me over to marathon them with her. When I was around twelve, very young and hanging out with her all the time, I would ride with grandma around town running little errands here and there, and whenever we past by great big trees she would tell me all about how she thought it would make a grand story, to write about the trees coming to life at night, the mighty trees uprooting themselves and traveling through the forest to meet and mingle with others; all the while I would stare wide eyed and amazed. Those are the fondest memories I have of her, the ones I’ve kept close and safe. A brightly enthusiastic woman, well in mind and spirit.
Imagine the oddity of it all from my perspective, to know that here I was in the midst of my own suffering, in the apartment now empty of my grandmother, who lay in rehab. She had fallen and broken her femur, and from there things only became worse in her general health and vitality. Surrounded by pictures and mementos of the past, I stared at the faces of my mother and siblings, my cousins and uncles, knowing that soon I would be face to face with them, five years drifting in my mind, a movie reel of the moment I left home, and all the had happened to me since.
Like most children who grow up, there are always aspects of your family that present struggles in life that later manifest into roadblocks and obstacles that you must face and overcome on your own. For me, I grew up the oldest and first born, the one whom all the families hopes and dreams rested upon. The one much was given to, and equally much was expected. My childhood was an oppressive one. A shackled box, with personal freedom and creative expression a dim reality. My mother was highly religious, a zealout in my eyes as I grew older, but lost in the world herself she sought the guidance and structure of life and soul inside the walls of church. Looking back on it all, I realize at times my life reflected scenes from the Stephen King novel Carrie, a child bright and flourishing independently, with interest in creative outlets that others had like video-games, books, and going to events, found himself spending four to five days a week, every week for years in a church house for hours on end. Class after class, prayers, rehearsals, day in and day out, church looked like a strange cult and business all at once. Religious none-sense gripped my mothers mind and dictated her every action, the voice behind a pulpit louder than her own internal voice, but I’ll be damn if it would be louder than mine.
I remember being reprimanded for liking pokemon, which according to the bishop of the church represented Satan’s ability to influence a child with pocket monsters that no doubt were planting subversive messages into our brains, and after a hard school year filled with grinding and trading player cards, having to sit down in the living room and rip up every one of my cards one by one and throw them away. Anything magical was out of the question, so no adventures with Harry Potter and it was all I could do to hide any reading interest I held that slide out of knights and armor into Game of Thrones like material, (granted most children maybe shouldn’t be reading such material to begin with, but that’s outside the point).
As years passed I was but a shell to my mother, hiding all the true parts of myself deep within, answering only when spoken to, being near only when asked. If there are any parents reading this or would be parents, I caution you now to be very wise and careful with what you allow to permeate your child’s life in terms of religion of spirituality. Especially considering religion and a relationship with a higher power is a aspect of most adults life that they themselves have spent a tremendous amount of energy just sorting out and are constantly re-evaluating. Let such things happen naturally. Encourage spiritual endeavors more than religious ones, and merely let the options be known, not forced. I was never given the choice to naturally and organically be myself, and NEVER did I have the emotional or spiritual support that was in best alignment with me from my parent, nor a safe space free of judgment or critic to just let my spirit be out in the open just as it was.
So as time passed, the oldest became the first and fastest to leave home, liberated by new found freedom and adventure. Away for the first time from a toxic living environment. Without ever having a true relationship from my mother, I in fact cut all communication with her, by necessity alone. I was resentful and had for to long been under a suffocating lifestyle, feelings of control and expectations that were not in line with what I wanted for myself as a human.
Five years pass, and suddenly I’m speaking with my mother again over the condition of my now dying, grandma. Her condition is worsening. The lease of her apartment is coming to an end.
Panicking, I realized at this point that I was going to need to find a second job, in order to support myself now solo in life. This shift was going to require me to cut hours at my current wonderful place of employment, selling tea as a tea merchant.
Being a tea merchant has by far been the most fulfilling line of work I’ve ever done. There is such a powerful connection between the human spirit and tea. Offering a freshly brewed hot cup of rich pue’rh tea to a sullen customer, and watching their entire demeanor shift after that first sip was a very rewarding experience and karmic exchange. At the tea house, one could recharge their spiritual battery, find warmth and relaxation, good conversation, and a fresh outlook on life. A cup of tea made with skill, mindfulness, and care serves to clear the mind, open the heart, nourish the body, and illuminate the spirit. It can bring a deep sense of peace to your heart, and that peace will flow throughout your entire being. I loved sharing this special gift, and even in writing I encourage you to read along with a hot cup of tea at your side. Your personal spirit companion. The two years that I sold tea, I learned so much about living in wellness and the importance of bringing the body into balance.
Yet tea is a humble trade, and outside of tips which are never grand, the pay wasn’t enough to help support me on my own. Especially in the face of needing an apartment and needing one soon. But at least I had this job, at least I could seek refuge here in the work I loved. I could feel encouraged about moving forward, a hearty tea sip at a time. Or at least that’s what I thought before my boss said that she wanted to give me some time to adjust to the different shifts that were happening in my life. I guess my frantic spiritual composure through the days of mulling over my twin had seeped into all areas of my life. She told me after some time off, she would call me back into work and we could go from there, and she never did.
After countless text massages, emails, and a brief plea over the phone, I stopped pursuing. Reasons unknown to me, my budding and enjoyable career selling tea came to an end, another blow to the beaten body I lay trapped in. I couldn’t believe this was my life, the one I had worked so hard to build, blowing away as if a twig in the wind.
And before I knew it, time in its ever forward motion, had brought about the ending of my grandmothers lease. I had but one place to turn to, and with reluctance, embarrassment, and a great sense of shame and failure, I called my distant mother and explained what bare minimum I could and asked to come “home”.
I was embarrassed and incredibly uncomfortable to be back with my mom and siblings. They had all changed and grown into people I no longer recognized in the course of five years, as I had too to them. But it seemed rather than being able to reconcile this gap with learning the new them, it had indeed shifted us farther apart than before. They had gone through a hailstorm of challenges themselves as a family: my mom was hospitalized with five to eight different blood clots found through out her body, no doubt a result from the stresses of church life all those years ago, my brother hospitalized with internal organ failures at times but in a place of recovery and striving to live a normal life, and my sister had under gone a miscarriage at the age of eighteen. In there eyes, my own fear projected outwards, “where have you been?”, “why where you not there for us?” and every other guilty thought I could imagine flooded my conscious.
How could I begin to convey to them my great need to leave when I did, or what life had been like for me in the last five years? What was justified and what wasn’t? This was a grim face to face with now what seemed like every mistake of my past, the wolves were howling and I was no longer running among them in the pack, but instead I was lost in a cave of self-reflection wishing to feel the wind again, the earth beneath me to carry me to freedom. I was a long way from the comfort of home I had found within my twin, even the quiet and serine space I had managed to create in my grandmothers house, was now replaced with an uncomfortable silence between everyone and me, the same silence I remembered as a child and had escaped with all my might. Small comforts that one gets used to living alone or with your mate dissipated, and the quiet nights were replaced by sudden run ins with family going to the restroom at the same time, or being awake and moving about at 2am. I was never expected to return home, so I had no room. I merely choose to sleep on the living room floor on a pallet and waved goodbye to all forms of privacy.
Unemployed, relationship-less, and back at home, I saw myself as the worlds biggest failure, and it was all I could do to make it out of the house and to the dojo to train. I walked two hours everyday to the dojo and trained as long as I could, then made the walk back. Someday’s all I could do was walk out of the house and to the dojo, collapsing onto the mat once I made it there, my spirit to low to do anything but breath one breath after the other in the quiet space of the training hall. In times like these its so important to have a special outlet to fall back on. You MUST have something to fall back on in the midst of the rising waves. Something to take care of your spirit for you, while your earthly world beats down your body. My sensei always says “You aren’t rich in life, until you have something money can’t buy“, and for me that was the element that became my saving grace. During the chaos, karate and the dojo was that for me. When laying on the floor of my mothers house at night, feeling like a stranger, when the waves of longing for my twin washed over me and the disappointment of my job slipping away pushed me deeper underneath, it was the training that offered strength to me, to keep living and make steps forward. It cooled my rages, it became a light from within, it slowed my racing mind, and overtime it brought balance back into view, even if it was still out of reach.
The training provided the single most important moment between me and my grandmother before she lost all recognition of me, passing away weeks later.
One day, I accompanied my family to the rehabilitation center that my grandmother was in. I had trained well that week, and felt better than I had all month, the light within me warm and willing to stretch out and be open to communication. My grandma at this point could still speak clearly, but it was obvious that her ability to recognize of those around her was coming and going. She would trail off mid-sentence or stop a thought halfway through. After some time of sitting with her, she turned to me and asked what I had been up to, to which I replied “Oh just training karate everyday grandma”. she nodded and kindly I began to explain I had specifically been training kata. Kata is the heart of Okinawan karate, a series of movements that form various “forms” that a karate-student trains over and over again. Kata is powerful in the fact that one doesn’t have to limit themselves when training it, and can explore the full scale of intensity at their own pace, and it single handedly helps a student become combat prepared. Kata acts as an extension of the basics and a vehicle of movement for the body to travel through. Its incredibly meditative, and as a spiritual tool you are literally following movements passed down from hundreds of generations. A true energetic channel to train in. To my surprise my grandmother turned excitedly and said, ” I used to train kata too!” I was blown away. Out of all the family in the room, only myself and my grandmother understood the value of an ancient tradition, and we had both trained it together. She had trained in the martial arts when she was much younger herself, and as excitedly as she responded to me I too jumped with glee and offered to demonstrate the kata closet to my heart, the one I had trained the most in my years, Seisan Kata.
As soon as I began, the atmosphere surrounding my grandmother changed and along with my spirit, her own spirit seemed to reach back into the timeless flow and recesses of her soul to the hours spent training in her own life. Her mind found those channels long since touched, and for a moment dusted off the cobwebs of age and joined in the flow of energy. I gently and with an attitude of appreciation went through my kata, flowing from stance to stance, striking with peace and gratitude flowing from my center. As I came to the end, bowing my head my grandmothers eyes shown a deep acknowledgement of what had just transpired, the rest of my family clapping in applause merely at the performance, unaware of the deeply spiritual blessing that my grandmother and I had shared.
I left that day feeling better than I had since my world had seemingly fallen apart, peace and gratitude in my heart. Who would have thought only two weeks later, she would be unable to recognize me fully, and a week from there she would be laying in a hospice bed gently taking her last breath on the planet Earth, on to the next great adventure. Yet I know, if all hadn’t had happened as it did, I wouldn’t have been there that day to share kata with my grandmother. I would have been selling tea that day, or tucked up under my twins arms a blissful puddle. I wouldn’t have had that chance in this life.
I know this post has been a lot, and for my second blog post ever it was really overwhelming to write. But I want to be transparent, I want to share who I am and what i’m going through right now in the moment, with who ever is reading along. I am 25 years old, and I’m in the midst of a personal quarter life crisis. I’m back at home uncomfortably so, I’m jobless currently, I have no mate and have lost a best friend, and have lost a dear family member suddenly in life. But now that that has been stated, let me take the time to share with you what has happened that is positive in my life.
Separating from my Twin Flame left me as a pile of ashes on the ground, but from that pile of broken nothingness I have had to fight harder than I ever have to find self-love again, and to rise like a tiny squawking phoenix. Insecurities and fears I’ve always battled with have been faced and lead to transformation, and from the pain of it all, from the great feelings of loss, I have found a better understanding of myself, my desires, and ultimately what I understand love to be. The clingy, co-dependent form of love that I once knew has been burned up along with all else, leaving me with the truest expression of love, unconditional love. Unconditional love isn’t always romantic and perfectly packaged. In fact unconditional love shows us what its like to love another through all the muck and pain and hardship buried within, without limitations or conditions. To love for loves sake, to love without reason. A love not based on expectations, free as a bird to come and go. A love that breaks free even the smallest of shackles placed on another. Imagine that bird as free as can be, but then you place a small chain on its leg, and it can only fly but so far into the sky, before it gets yanked back. My flame taught me that even that little chain, must be broken to express love in its purest form. Once I stopped all of the blaming, stopped the “how could you” and “you promised”, I was left with clarity, that the nature of love isn’t always meant to be captured and kept, but its true power might just be in how well we learn to let go of love and move on. To cherish the love you share, the ups and the downs, cherish it all as a great story with a beginning, middle, and end, and then let peacefully go. That’s love. Holding on, often we rob each other of the next stages of life, out of fear of being alone. fear of losing stability and comforts that we’ve known. To let go, is the endgame of love, and its beautiful.
I still struggle with longing for my twin of course. I still sometimes can be found on the floor, a curled up ball of puppy whimpers and whines some nights. But I have grown. And growing is our ultimate purpose as humans.
From losing my job, blossomed the flower of starting again. The strength it takes to begin again is tremendous, to look at a resume or application again after working so hard doing what you love, creates a great sense of disappointment, dread, and fear. But its taking these steps forward, that usher you out of the darkness and into a new day, a new life. Having to walk into a business and offer a resume has been a complete reboot, but its allowed me to be inspired to apply to places I never thought to, like a local arcade. I’ve also taken this time to better myself. Realizing you have to start over, presents the exciting possibilities of something new. I began studying Japanese everyday in the midst of all of the chaos, and have since learned to read and write both Hiragana and Katakana, all 208 characters combined. Surely I wouldn’t have been driven to such degree of practice if not for the unpleasant amount of anxiety over job hunting and sudden time on my hand. It propelled me further and further into the language. I’m really proud of myself!
I’ve also taken actions to pursue a skill and possible career as a massage therapist. You never know until you try and you surely can’t predict what energy will birth from you until you are in a position where you need to dig deep.
Although being back home is still rather uncomfortable, and privacy still non-existent, I can say that the few moments I have been able to share between my family have been of positive value, and ultimately I can understand from my mothers point of view how nice it must be to have her oldest son back in her life, alive and well. At times I have even expressed how we should have a lunch together and seek healing of past wounds that exist with us both, and to try and create a safe space to communicate as adults. Our relationship definitely isn’t ideal, and it seems we have a long way to go, which I’m not sure I truly wish to travel that road, or if it will even happen. But I do know if I wasn’t here, I may have lead a life of regret, a life never knowing of my mother or her of her son. Separated by silence and time… for this I’m at least grateful. I know too that being surrounded by the family she so dearly loved made the passing of my grandmother easier for both her and my mother.
This hasn’t been a what to do post if you find yourself in a crisis, or a top 10 things that happen when you do, hell I’m still in it, but slowly I can see the sky bright and blue again, the sun shinning down, and the winds of change bringing grace and happiness once more. This is me. Healing. A real human, not faking a life on Instagram, not flaunting statuses on Facebook, but a real person experiencing life, love, loss, and redemption., and the soft glow of hope.
Arigato reader, friend, in what ever way you have been drawn here, and in whatever you are facing in life, know you are not alone. Each trial, each blow, every cut and each time your pushed into the ground, know that you are growing into something mighty and strong. You are coming into a season of rebirth in life, into a new creature leveled up and fearless. The wind will guide you again, the sun, lighting your way forward.Never give up, and never let starting over keep you down.