The way to God is a masked face gazing into the last breathe with a thin plastic veil between them. Words clash and summon in all the languages…. lifting up rage and fear looking for a God or Godless leader to kick this contraption into motion spitting out something … anything we all can love and feel safe with…. Ranting images and pixels across screens land in the hands of those over saturated, seeking, planning… the world teeters into doubt and fights over who is right and wrong. While the answers slip between the letters and fall unnoticed in cyber dust. Empty spaces of worship echo the last murmured invocation tugging at the the very edge of their usefulness… to survive….to live is to not unite. Spring unfolds with the blooms of new life and the potential seeds for a new generation. Anarchists plot the burning of traditions with the slogans they stole from those before them. The sun passes over head and the moon spins… tides rise and fall… We are 10,000 suns these are fixed Arjuna knows….