This world may claim that the future is uncertain only to keep you in doubt of who/what you truly are. Oh, yeah, and that goes for me, too.

Here it is, the defining characteristic of the 'Real Thought' - when you are in it, having one, engaging its realm, you are at home and fear is the stranger here. It is the absence of fear that allows us to remember what had just been that 'forbidden memory' and now is wrapping you in familiar Self-Recognition.
It's all there - or 'here' - my dear friend. Welcome to your memory of the real world, the home of real thought...

'Real Thought' vs. 'Bad Turn to the Left'

This is a long one; time is so full now and running as if we're on some ultimate scavenger hunt with the clock running, running...
Life's pace is completely late 1970's and we're running; running toward, running from, collecting all the elements for some alchemical soup never before concocted that would be years in the simmering. Only upon review does it begin to make much sense.
Is it madness that drives this train or is it predetermined with all its stops so carefully planned? Only time will tell and time is running at high speed. This year sets the stage for one of the biggest events I will ever be able to imagine... 

Leaving 'home' for a second time, this time on board 'DIDDIKAI' heading south. The journey is well underway but it feels new, as if it's happening now...
Me, M.B. and Bilbo (the 90# Olde-English Sheepdog) headed for Hell's Gate (Long Island Sound, that is... or is it?) and beyond. Reading the Fellowship of the Ring trilogy out loud to each other as we head down the coast.
The statement by Confucius was to proven over and over and over again: "No matter where one goes - there they are!"

After my first summer of sailing Diddikai I'm hopelessly gone and it's only a matter of time now...
Work continues to focus on the marine field, I enter the first Newport-Bermuda single handed race, have a prophetic dream (actually, several) and slice-and-dice my only hand to temporarily be down to 'one finger and one thumb' while on a boat delivery to Trinidad. 
Ah, youth; clearly wasted on the young!

22 years old and speeding towards the brick wall of Destiny via the Fates Themselves. Unbeknownst to my human the play is scripted and the special effects are lining up. The cast of characters so carefully chosen that the hand of the master is evident at every turn. Except to me that is. I seem to be flip-flopping between profound certainty and total cluelessness. A seeming impossibility of juxtapositioning my fragments into some form of coherent understanding.
And there's still so much more to come...