May 7, 2000

Samuel: Hello, dears.

Hello, Samuel.

S: Do you ever feel like you’re swimming? Swimming in a river, and as you’re swimming, you know that the body floats—last time you looked, last time you tried—and that all you have to do is just guide the floating body, and propel it with your strokes, with your flutter. And that’s simple until you get tired, and when you get tired, it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

Your body could do it by itself. All you have to do, essentially, is guide it. It’s not hard to do what is required, whatever your version of it is. It doesn’t even require a large amount of coordination to make it happen, and most swimmers would tell you that once they’ve learned the basics of it, they don’t even think about it any more, much like life.

But when you get tired, you start having to think about every move. You feel every current pushing you a different direction. You are aware of the temperature of the water, that did not bother you before, and the temperature of the air, that was not affecting you a bit before. You are aware of every ache in your body. You become so focused on getting it over with that you cannot enjoy it at all. And of course, you hopped in the river in the first place because you thought you might enjoy the swim.

Sometimes what makes you tired has nothing at all to do with you. What makes you tired is the temperature of the water, or the weights that you wear in your bathing suit, or that rock you have tied around your neck. It’s that you’ve been going for so long, doing the same thing without any type of change that you wear out the muscles that get you there. Aye. And it makes you tired.

Now for those of you that swim, what is it you do when you’re just stroking your way across the water, and you start wearing out, and you start getting even more tired because of all of the things that I mentioned before that have nothing to do with you, of course, and everything to do with all of those elements outside of you—in the water, in the clothes, in the air, in the currents, whatever? What’s something you do? Aye.

I watch the clock to see if I can get out.

S: You start watching the clock. All right, that’s not exactly the direction I’m going here. I’m looking more for, you’re tired out, so what do you do?

Yes. You change your stroke. You turn over on your back. You float.

You take some breaths.

S: You take some breaths. You stop what you’re doing, and you refocus. That’s what you do.

And in your life right now, you may be in danger of not reaching the other side of the river, because you are so tired out that you cannot focus right any more, because you have been in the same grind for so long that your body has become so extremely capable of this one stroke that you may have even forgotten how to do another.

And this is a good time, right now in your life, to give yourself the opportunity to take a look at the other shore and first decide, Is that still where I’m desiring to go? If the choice is go back where you came from or drown where you are, why do you think it is so many humans drown where they are rather than go back where they came from?

Fear of failure.

S: Fear of failure. Sure. Well, if I go back where I am, then that means I’m a failure. And drowning doesn’t.

You died a hero.

S: You die a hero. Aye, hero is a sandwich, don’t forget that. It gets eaten fast and gives you indigestion after.

Look at your goal. Is it what you’re about still? Are you heading where you care about going? Do you even know where you’re going?

There was a swimmer years ago—and of course you could take most any body of water and come up with a version of this story, so I’ll just make one up—a swimmer that was going to swim between Scotland and Ireland. That’s a nice swim. It can be done; water’s a bit cold though. And this swimmer trained and trained, and finally he was ready to be able to make the swim.

Now, you don’t make a swim like that just because you think it might be fun and so you’re going to just hop in one morning and have lunch over in Dublin. If you’re wise anyway, you don’t do that. Instead, you’ve got support personnel around you. You’ve created a network that, just in case something happens—you cramp up and you don’t quite make it—you’ve got someone to dig you out of the water, pull you out of the water.

He started swimming, and was doing well, but as will happen in that arena, a fog moved in. And it got so very thick that even the sounds of the strokes on the water were confusing, because all sound just echoes about in a fog like that. You’ve been through some of those, haven’t you? Could not understand where the boat going with you was. Could not hear any sort of direction. Certainly, could not see a thing. He tried to keep going, but when he got tired, it was just too hard. He pulled out. He just stopped and treaded water, calling out until he could be found and be pulled out of the water. And when the fog cleared, he’d stopped in sight of shore.

But when you can’t see where you’re going, it’s easy to give up, isn’t it? When you don’t know how far you are from your goal, it feels as though you’re not enough to make it.

One of the things that has been interesting to me of late . . . let me back off and do it another way. Do you remember that the last time we were together we did some questions and answers? And in those questions and answers, what were about ninety-nine percent of the questions about? Do you remember that?


S: What were they about?

How long we had.

The end.

S: That’s right. When is the end? When am I going to reach that goal? Let me know how far it is to the other shore so that I can know if I have the strength to keep swimming. And I realized that the reason you are so concerned about when the end will be is because you fear you’re not strong enough to swim it. To swim it out. To swim it through. To complete the task you’ve decided to do.

Do not ever forget, it’s not the destination; it is indeed the journey.

I’ve not told this story in a very long time. Join me when you recognize it. Aye.

There was a wonderful little village out in the hills, beautiful little houses that generally, as villages tend to do, held a lot of families that were just barely scraping by. And in one particular house in this village was a widow, or would you say here, a widow woman? How would you say that?

Widow woman?

S: That’s the one. Aye.

I wouldn’t say that, but . . .

S: And her son. And they were just barely scraping by. Now, you know, you really care about what’s going to happen tomorrow when you’re just barely scraping by today. You just care about if you’re going to be able to manage tomorrow. What’s going to happen tomorrow? What tomorrow is about when you do not feel you have any control going on today, because, you see, if I have no control going over today, then surely I’ll not have control over tomorrow either. So I’ve got to do what I can to be able to manage everything possible so that tomorrow won’t be so bad. And if it is as bad, I’ll be able to deal with it.

One way individuals do that is to just cut out everything in their life, so that there’s nothing that can hurt them. Unfortunately that also means very few things can pleasure them as well. But, that’s not the point.

Now this son’s name was . . .


S: Gracious! I was going to say John. But don’t they call those named John Jack? Why is that? So, it finally got to the point in which Jack’s mother said, “You know, I’ve been thinking for a long time it was about time for us to go vegan. We’ve been vegetarian for a long time, and I think that for the sake of the creatures on the planet, and to raise our own awareness to the highest possible function, we’ve got to be guardians of those creatures, and that means that we’ve got to, I think, stop eating dairy. What do you think about that, Jack?”

And Jack said, “Sure Ma. Whatever you say.”

“Well, good. Why don’t you go see if you can take . . .” Bossie? This is not a story about control now.

Who has Spot the cow? Spot the cow?


S: Spot the dog. But Spot the cow? This is Spot. I like that. I like that a lot better. “Why don’t you take dear Spot to the market?” I like that. “And see if you can get a few dollars in change for Spot. Aye.”

So Jack says, “Sure Ma. Whatever you say.” Aye. Takes Spot by the halter, and starts on down the road.

And the mother says, Boy am I really relieved here, because we really could not afford to keep the cow, even though she gave us milk and knowing that it’s not necessary to have cow milk in order to survive, I think that that’s probably the wiser sort of thing to be doing at this point. So, it’s good, and the money will allow us to start on something different, and we’ll be able to have more vegetables, and we’ll be able to put a bit away, and I think that this is the best way to do it altogether.

And, lo and behold, looking out the window after that little conversation, it looked like Jack was already on his way back. And she looked out and she said, “Jack! Are you back already?”

And Jack said . . .

“Sure, Ma.”

S: “Sure, Ma.”

He sure is agreeable.

S: Isn’t that so.

“Well, how much did you get for Spot?”

“Well, Ma, you see, the reason that I was quite so quick is because I did not actually go to the market. About halfway there I met somebody in the road who took a liking to Spot, and I can tell that Spot liked him too. You know doing all those cow things. Those big nuzzles, and large tongue licks.” Have you ever been licked by a cow? Aye. They’re very affectionate creatures, they are. “So, I told him I was taking Spot to market, that I was going to trade him in for a few dollars, and he said, ‘I’ve got something better for you. I can see that you’re a wise child’—he liked me Mum—‘I can see that you’re a wise child, and I’d like for you to have this very special thing that I have here. I have, and I’ll trade them for your beautiful spotted cow, these.’”

And Jack held open his hand in the very same way. And his mother looked at it, and she looked at it, and she picked one up, and she said, “You know, Jack, if I did not know better, I’d think these looked like common beans. Tell me you’ve not traded the cow for some beans.”

“But Ma, they’re magic beans.”

Now, you as an audience at this moment may be wondering exactly where it is I’m going with the story, because in the past I’ve taught this as a story about—oh, what?—business enterprise or something like that. I’ve talked to you about this story in regard to seeing things in other ways. They’re not just beans, they’re magic beans. And whatever am I doing here?

Well, one version of this story could be right there, just in time for Mother’s Day. You have essentially the whole story of motherhood right in front of you.

You won’t be a mother very long with those beans.

S: You have the dear son, Jack, who is your pride and joy and who took the cow, the family cow, and traded it in for a few beans because they were magic. And like any good mother, you will look at those beans and you will say, “Thank you so much, it’s what I always wanted.” You will not think ill of your son. And you will put the beans in the back of the drawer with all of the other things that you got that were just as precious, that you also have no use for.

I think it’s scary that he thinks it’s this funny.

Because mothers do that, don’t they? They choose to see the intention. They choose to see the love. They choose to read what could be a devastating situation in the most positive function, because the mother recognizes that the child is learning, and the child needs encouragement. And the child should have positive reinforcement, and the child should know that he is very loved. And with that in mind, being that Mother’s Day is close upon you in this merry, merry month, I would then go on to say that, of course, you are all mothers in the best sort of way.

Five different people in the audience had a totally different connotation on that. You’re all a bunch of mothers. That’s right. Now, just bite your tongues collectively there, because as it is that in every one of you there is whatever makes up the hormonal connection of your genetic structure that allows your gender to express itself as masculine or feminine, you are also more than that specific version of your physical essence, because you are indeed both masculine and feminine in the way you think, in the way you express yourself. The nature of your energy is, as all energy in this world, a duality. And therefore you have within you that which is the eternal mother, and you have that which is the eternal father in you.

And if you want to make it in the most basic, and as a result the most general sorts of terms as well, you could say that there is in everybody’s life those for whom you are the mother. It may not be a blood child. It might be your cat. It might be the clerk at the grocery store, whether they want it or not. It might be everybody you work with, whether they want it or not.

And you also have father in you. So I could then say that, as you are in a very real way a mother—a mother of ideas, a place from which creative energy pours forth, a mother of children, perhaps, but at the least of it, those who look to you for information, because it’s your job, because it’s your pleasure by giving to them in a way that they can understand, you are expressing that motherly quality—the idea of mother is to nurture creation. And with that you have the opportunity to nurture creation every day, some way.

So you too can in one way or another relate to Jack’s mum, who says, “Thank you so much for the beans, they’re so . . . bean-like. I will cherish them forever. I think it was good trade for that cow, Spot.” You’ve done your version of that too. Why? Why?

To be kind.

S: To be kind. To be loving.

Because the relationship was more important than the event.

S: Because the relationship was more important than the event. Good.

To give what is needed.

S: To give what is needed in a larger picture, because surely the cow was needed in a smaller picture, or the money for the cow in a right now picture. Sure.

Because the event gave the other person pleasure. And you revel in that pleasure.

S: Because it gave you pleasure for another to have pleasure, for one you loved. Aye.

Love because you can.

S: Because it’s an opportunity to love, because you can. I like that.

Maybe because there’s something in me that trusted, whether I realized it or not, that there was something greater in those few beans, or trust in the fact that I could make . . . I could help him make something greater than just what was on the surface out of what was there.

S: That’s possible, but most of the time in situations that I’m making reference to, they look just like beans. That’s all they are is beans, or some other equally inappropriately seeming experience or thing that comes your way.

Any of you, when you were children—and I happen to know for a fact that every one of you were, and some of you still are—did you ever give something truly inappropriate to one of your parents? Did you ever do something that was just, oh goodness, what a mistake? Did you do it, because you wanted to antagonize them? No, of course not. Was it received gracefully, or did you hear about it for the rest of your life? Punished forever for doing such an awful thing to another. Probably not. Probably, at the most, it became somewhat of a family joke in the loving sort of sense. More often than not, the mother aspect is that which chooses not to see what will not add to the greater purpose. It is the father that is more likely to come up with the other purpose, by the way. But that must be next month.

However, since that’s not exactly where I’m going with this story, I won’t go all of those places, and instead we’ll just go back to the beans, and Jack, and no cow, and mother in the road. All right. Take yourself back there.

So he says, “Look, I’ve got these beans,” and she says, “What are you, some sort of idiot? Have you no idea on the planet that when I sent you out it was because we had nothing in the house to eat?”

“Well, Mum, you made that cute little remark about becoming vegan. Right?”

“Could you not tell I was kidding? Must you take after your father at a time like this?”

Apparently, more of you had that parent, is that right? That’s right.

“You will go back out there. You will find that cow. You will give these beans back.”

“But mother, they’re magic beans.”

And she says, “Beans, shmeans!” and tosses them away. “Now you go back and find that cow, and don’t you come back here until you’ve got Spot with you or the money for her.”

Did not write it that way, is that it?

Jack goes out, eventually has to sneak into the house at night so that he can get a bit of rest, because he’s not found Spot. He has no money for her, but he wants a bit of rest. He decides that he’ll wake up at dawn, get back out, and continue the search for Spot, before his mother knows that he snuck back into the house so that he could have a cozy rest.

The next morning, the sun begins to rise. Jack wakes right up with the sunrise and says, I have a job to do. I must run out and continue the work that I have been given by my dear mother. Goes to open the door, and happens to glance out the window and notice, Hmm, I don’t remember seeing that before, because there appears to be a great tree maybe, growing up, up, up into the sky. In another life he created the first skyscraper right off of that image.

But Jack knows, as every good child knows, I have a mission to accomplish. I must do what I have agreed to do, and that is go find Spot. So I will go find Spot. And out Spot . . . out Jack goes. “Out, out, spot” is different altogether, right? Out Spot. Not. Out Jack goes, and unfortunately the road curves right around that great whatever that is, and so Jack says, Well, I’m just going to stop for a moment and take a look here.

All right, right there, right there, that’s where you are. What am I saying?

We’re the village idiots.

S: Well now, actually that wasn’t the one I had in mind, thank you very much, Lou.

We don’t know what we’re looking at.

S: That’s good. That’s good. That works.

And we’re about to discover magic.

S: Maybe you’re going to discover some magic, but that’s not necessarily right where you are. Continue a bit.

We have a choice.

S: Good.

We can do what our mother said, which we know, of course, is the best, highest for everyone. Or we could maybe go in an unknown way, and discover maybe who knows what?

S: Good. Very good.

Were you adding to that, love? Can’t get better than that. Don’t bother. Right?

In your life . . . well, let’s talk as friends, all right? Friend to friend, I’ll tell you, you know you’ve done a lot of stupid things. You had the opportunity to make a few bucks on the cow, and you brought home magic beans, didn’t you? And in life if it was not the magic beans; it was some other version.

Fill in the blank.

S: Right. Does that make you the village idiot? Or does that make you one with hope?

It depends on who you ask.

S: Well, you’re right. You’re right. And that’s the key. It does make you indeed the village idiot when what you do has a negative impact on those with whom you have compacted to function with. If it gets in the way of what you’re here to do, if it keeps you from being what you’re here to be, if you have made the agreement with your mother that you’re going to go out and sell the cow and you come back with magic beans, yes, you are the village idiot. And the only thing that will make you not the village idiot is some other story, because even if the beans create a magic beanstalk that takes you up to Giant Land where you’re going to be able to harness the golden goose, the magic harp, and—what else? Something like that. Again?

The golden eggs.

S: The goose that lays the golden eggs, but there is a harp, and then there’s some other thing. Yes?

The bag of gold […]

S: That’s good. Yes. So it pays you off in gold in all these different ways, you’re still the village idiot, because you lost sight of your goal. You did not change your compact. You put at risk all whom you had working with you.

You are the hero, depending upon the perspective, because you had, oh, what? Cunning and initiative, and vision, and you had the ability to recognize that magic was in all things, and that these could indeed be magic beans. And certainly if you came together with enough people who had common intent, and you were working in One Heart and One Mind and you could create the right ritual with the right amount of words that had the right amount of toning that went with it, even if they were only beans-shmeans, you could change them into magic beans, couldn’t you? And if they did not become magic beans, at least you did the right thing by taking it out of a worldly context and putting it into a spiritual context. And you learned from it, and then that makes it all right, doesn’t it? So the next time that your old Ma is able to go and manage finding another cow for you to go sell, well, you’ll know better next time. Maybe.

You are standing at the beanstalk. And you are looking at the maybe in the sky, or the commitments you have made right here on earth. You are looking at the if-only, could-be, what-if. Or you are looking at “I have made this commitment; I have this agreement; I have this responsibility.”

Well, you know, if this were a Mother’s Day story, this would be a lovely time to bring in that the difference between you and Jack is that, in this story, Jack is a child. Let’s make him what? Seven or eight.

How old is your little sister?


S: Seven. All right. Then seven or eight’s too old, because she’s smarter than that. Let’s say four or five maybe. Yes? Five years old. Come on, Spot! Can almost reach that halter. A very tall child was Jack. And when a child is four or five, you’re careful about the responsibilities you give a four- or five-year-old, aren’t you? In fact, as a mother, you’re constantly working to ensure that the responsibilities adequately fit the development. That you do not ask a four-year-old to do an eight-year-old’s task. You do not expect an eight-year-old to do what an adult can do. Well, to do so is to guarantee that you’re going to have trouble, isn’t it? It’s going to guarantee that you’ve got disappointment and unhappiness all the way around. You’re going to be unhappy, because the child will never be able to live up to your expectations. Hello! And the child’s going to be unhappy, because they’re going to find out that nothing they ever do is right. Hello!

Now, because the nature of a child—if this was a Mother’s Day story, of course—because the nature of the child is to eventually reach that point in which they are no longer dependent upon the parents—don’t you wish?—that means that children go through a specific releasing ritual that most of you recognize as rebellion. The letting go of the authority to become their own authority. That’s what they do, isn’t it? And more often than not, as you can look in your own life and probably remember—and those who are mothers out here can remember as well—that more often than not means if you say, “Yellow shirt,” they come out with the green one, not because they’re secretly color-blind, but because they do not want to do what you say.

I cannot tell you how many of you do that. Still struggling against authority of any sort. A natural resistance factor that says, even to your own heart, I have a desire to do this; therefore, I will somehow, some way, sabotage it, change it, resist it so that it will not be in line with anything else.

Sorry. Not the point. Once again off track.

A good parent, a good mother, tries to ensure that the responsibilities that are given are appropriate to the age of the child. And a child’s constantly seeking more and more responsibilities, because it’s a sign of growth. “I can do that. I can do that. Let me help. Let me do.” Or even taking it upon themselves to just do it, don’t they?—sometimes to interesting consequences—because that’s a sign of growth. “I want the responsibility. I want to do. Give me more.”

When that growth has been abused by a parent who is not given age-appropriate responsibility, then the child becomes afraid of responsibility. I did my best. I brought back these magic beans. It seemed like the better trade. Perhaps Jack should not have been sent for with that cow.

You’re standing at the beanstalk, but you’re not a four-year-old. You have the responsibility that you have agreed to before you, and you have this wonderful, beautiful, unknown luring you like a siren: “Jack, climb me. Come up. It’s nice up here. Move away from the mundane, the humdrum. Put your head up into the clouds here. No worries. Come up the beanstalk.” And so many see life just like that.

You’re going along doing what you’ve got to do until you round the corner and there is the siren stalk. And it says, your feet are so weary. Come, rest your weary feet on one of my branches. And as you come up here, you’ll find that it’s comfortable. Put your head up in the clouds.

So, all right. Let’s go there. You’ve got these responsibilities right here in the world, but you are convinced that this beanstalk is what you need. What do you do?


Climb it.

Well you look at your responsibilities to renegotiate any compacts that . . .

S: Ah, but your responsibilities are back there in Ma’s house, and the beanstalk is right here, right now, and this is an opportunity that should not be missed. What do you do?

You have to honor your responsibilities and compacts.

S: You have to honor your responsibilities and compacts, and so you figure out a way to do it. You say, All right, I’m going to climb the beanstalk. I’m going to go this far. If I go this far and I do not see anything exciting, I’ll come right back down and go right on to my responsibilities, just as I said I would. Aye, you know why you’re laughing, don’t you? Because that’s a real familiar one.

Deep breath, because I’m probably going to say something that sounds a bit outrageous with all of the magic harping I’ve been doing in the last few minutes. All right you’ve got these responsibilities back at Ma’s house. You have said this is what you’re going to do, and standing there, in front of you, at the bend in the road is this beanstalk that you know is special. And so you start climbing, and with every climb up, with every life of one leg to the other, you are thinking, oh what am I doing? And you are thinking this is so exciting, aren’t you? That’s how life is. What am I doing; this is so much fun? How could I be doing this thing that is giving me such pleasure?

If you have decided you’re going to climb that beanstalk in spite of the commitments you have made, in spite of not renegotiating those compacts, then, dear one, climb that beanstalk with everything you’ve got. Make it worthwhile. But when you climb that beanstalk, recognize what you’re doing. Don’t act stupid about it: All right, I’m climbing the beanstalk. I’m going to get in trouble for it. It’s all right. I’m willing to get in trouble for it. That’s one version.

How about—better version—all right, I’m going to climb the beanstalk. I’ve got twenty minutes before I need to get to the market to see if Spot’s still available somewhere. I’m going to use this twenty minutes, because it’s not someone else’s time, it’s mine. Don’t risk somebody else. Don’t risk what you don’t have. On your own time, at your own expense, climb the beanstalk, but when you get there, don’t forget that the giants live there, too. And I want to tell you that the very same strength and courage and cunning and hope and vision and motivation that got Jack the bag of gold, the singing harp, and the goose that laid the golden eggs would have made him rich without the climb.

The beanstalk motivated Jack in ways that his other compacts did not. Your beanstalk is obviously motivating you in ways that your compacts have not been.

What is it about the beanstalk that’s doing that? The courage to move forward. The plan that got you up there. The things that were required. And there’s not time to go into the story with all of the lessons it can give, but it’s very much a parable about growing up, being faced with the impossible, and believing it and acting on it—and taking your hits by it.

He did not have everything just showered on him once he got to the top of the beanstalk, did he? No, in fact he had to run for his life. He was going to be eaten alive, but he was so skinny he had to get fattened up first. Well, down below, in what he thought of as his real world, he was also getting eaten alive, but in another way. The dangers are the same, no matter what. Do you know why? Because as long as you are the one who left the house, traded the cow, climbed the stalk, as long as you are the same, so ultimately is everything else in your life. Different packaging. Running for your life from starvation. Running for your life from the giant who wants to eat you. Your world is full of giants ready to eat you.

Your world is also full of bags of gold and magic beans, and you are always making the choice. If this were a Mother’s Day story, I would tell you that in your life you have quite a constant lesson in front of you in learning to help others as they face their beanstalks. That, in fact, over the next few months, you’re going to be dealing a whole lot with people who feel as though they have been swimming for so long, they’re tired and they don’t . . . they don’t know how far they are from their destination. Maybe they should just quit. Maybe they should not bother seeking somebody to buy the cow. Maybe they should just rely on the magic beans.

There is the mother’s opportunity before you to teach the children how to make wise decisions, but as every mother will tell you those decisions only come when you have already made them yourself, when you’ve fallen on your face in a bowl of magic beans, when you have skinned your own knees and you know that it hurts, when you have fallen and gotten back up and kept going and learned how good that feels, when you have gained the wisdom that experience gives you. Only then can you pass it on.

You cannot guarantee it will be taken. How many of you have children who have not listened to your good advice? How many of you were children that did not listen to some pretty good advice? Every hand in here could go up right now.

But it’s not a Mother’s Day story, so I’ll not go quite so far as to say that your children need you. I will instead go so far as to say this: You’ve come here at a time in which your world is making so many changes, in which in so many ways humanity is behaving like a four-year-old—having to do it the hard way. You’ve come here at a time in which the planet needs a nurturing, loving, gentle, teacher helping the many learn to be responsible for what they’re here for. You have come here having made a compact to make a difference. And right now your world is really, really looking for magic beans.

Some of you are the bean sellers. Some of you are the indulgent parent who says, “Oh, it’s all right, we’ll manage somehow, because it’s more important for you to be able to do what you want than it is for us to eat.”

Many of you are learning the hard way that neither one of those answers is the one you want to be responsible for when all is said and done. Out on the golf course, yes: “I sold him those magic beans, hee, hee, hee. Fooled him.”

It’s time to stop with the excuses. It’s time to be what you are, a guardian of the greater Plan for this planet. A guardian in the sweetest sense is a mother. In that yours is to guard and to guide creation. You do it with love, because it’s what you are. The experiences that you have, through which you learn a thousand ways in a thousand days how to love, is what life is about. Into your path, every day, comes at least one person, at least one person, who needs the love you have to offer, the love you are. If you’re busy staring at the beanstalk, you’ll never be able to do it. And there’s not time to wait on you to get over it.

Your world is changing so fast that if you’re not keeping up, then hand in that nametag, because you’re not honoring your compact. There’s no excuse. You know what you’re here for, and you know how easy it is.

Love really is all there is. That’s it. You lose sight of that goal, and then you get out of the water fifteen feet from shore because you got caught up at the beanstalk. Don’t do it. It’s too big a risk. You’ll hate yourself in the morning.

Happy Mother’s Day. Glochanumora. Happy trails.