For Meeko, the moment of revelation is knowing her father lives despite his mortal demise. Everything else is contained within this one discovery. For me, such knowledge is secondary. It’s not that I’m unimpressed by this supernatural occurence, but what shakes my bones is that through the images I’ve been shown, how is it that I spent so long complaining there was nothing in this place worth writing about? I wasted vast swathes of my life trying to seek inspiration, and yet it was all around me, as common as the sound of birdsong first thing in the morning. My problem now so simple to see, is that I lived unwilling to peek through the pines of modern life. I was consumed by the blinding ignorance that cripples any other would-be rebel—drowned in an eternal sense of grieving for that which was never lost. I blamed it on boredom—that life had nothing to offer me—and yet I was a victim of my own sense of self-worth. Until you peek through those vines, self-worth is worthless—it has to be earned. I thought life owed me a living—because I was angry, young and restless—but the only thing I was owed was a single chance, and how many chances was I given only to piss them away? A chance a day for the best part of two decades, it seems, for not since the days of my childhood have I until this moment believed that there was more out there other than a reason not to begin what I may never finish. Such a revelation pales against the discovery of a bridge between two realms, yet nonetheless, the lens in which I view myself and the world has been shattered to pieces.