It's a wonder sometimes how questions position themselves in my mind, seeming to emerge from the depths of me Am I seeking something truer than the breath I draw or the smell of a flower? More real than the purring of a cat beneath my hand? Perhaps the answer can be found tucked inside the pages of a book, years after having been put there. Is it as true now as it seemed then? Is it a measure of trust that gives us the strength to stand and take the next step forward? The answers are so much less important than the questions, which are themselves nothing more than whatever you need them to be. Everything is of a moment. The more appreciated moments you have, the less you need to question, the less you need to be seeking answers, the more the answers will reveal themselves.