I search for elusive things, and imagine that they are worth chasing because of their rarity; and I wonder if I will know when I find them the real reason why I go in the first place on their trail. For I know enough that I realize I know very little, and every time I am sure of something, that with such pride cometh the fall — though too, I never do stop conjecturing why a certain thing is, or might be. Or shall I put it another way: when will I get a clue? Is it that we are fated never to truly know why, not while we bumble and stumble around upon this bare earth; is giving up trying to understand the true understanding? Seems like a lot of work just to throw in the towel. There are those who have been as if they had some higher order of understanding, but I imagine that I am not like them, I am not the one in a billion who grasps the wispy secrets of heaven. But then again, nothing will stop me from those moments that come, and they do come: when I look up at the stars, and in a childlike sense of wonder, feel among everything around me as if I belong….