There is a strong motivating force working on my heels to keep me moving forward into the unknown. I know that potential lies there, awaiting my arrival. I am no longer in the beginning of this growth cycle, but somewhere in the middle. I will soon find a bountiful treasure, as I've been picking up threads leading to it for some time now. It can only lead me to more pitfalls, then more treasure. I don't mind that some truths are being withheld from me, I think they may scare me off of my path anyway. I'm exhausted from thinking, working, feeling all of the messages my body has for me. But I can't stop working. Thought for the day: Chickenshit makes mighty good fertilizer. Reading: The Drama of the Gifted Child, Alice Miller Mary Jane's Ideabook Cookbook Lifebook: For the Farmgirl in All of Us, Mary Jane Butters The House at Pooh Corner "Pooh tried to think of something he would say, but the more he thought, the more he felt that there is no real answer to "Ho-ho!" said by a Heffalump in the sort of voice this Heffalump was going to say it in. "I shan't say anything," said Pooh at last. "I shall just hum to myself, as if I was waiting for something."